


Runnin' Down A Dream

by mikesassmith



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Also this is def self insert, F/M, I'm an ultra runner, I'm not going to explain the time travel bit, Just except it, Nadir is also there, a psa: men should not coach women ever, erik is alw based, so expect a dramatic bitch, tags updating as we go, the author is flying by the seat of her pants, this is what my heart wants, which is good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikesassmith/pseuds/mikesassmith
Summary: Allison De Chagny is in Paris preparing for her UTMB debut while also attempting to escape an abusive coach/athlete relationship. She mysteriously finds herself transported back in time while trying to uncover the secrets of her ancestry, as well as the secrets of the Opera Ghost.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Original Female Character(s), Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Runnin With The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are gonna be mildly applicable song titles. lol

Allison winced as the sun began to creep over the horizon, illuminating the Parisian silhouette. It was still early enough, however, that the only immediate sounds she could hear was the steady inhale and exhale of breaths that came from mild forms of exertion, and the quiet rhythm of footsteps pounding on pavement.

It’s going to be a hot one today, she thought to herself as she thanked her past self for having enough forethought to ask the front desk clerk for an early wake up call last night. Having never been one for hot weather running, early morning runs were part of the Summer running grind, and if one wanted to avoid the oppression of the sun it was best to beat it to the punch. And beat it she had every day that Summer, as she had spent many a morning training before the sun was up in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Ultra marathons don’t train for themselves, and UTMB was the Mecca of ultra running, it was just an unfortunate fact that the race was in August.

She had been over the moon when she broke the tape at Zegama, securing her place at this coveted event. She just wished she could say the same for her coach. Who rather than sharing in her victory had mocked and criticized her performance.

“You’re just lucky you were racing a bunch of nobodies!” He had screamed at her in front of thousands of spectators. “Had you been racing real athletes you wouldn’t have even placed in the top ten!”

Though she wanted to crawl into a hole and die, she put on her best smile and accepted her award with dignity and grace. After all, it would only be worse when they were back at the hotel, away from the mercy of prying eyes. 

She shuddered as she remembered, and turned the corner to head back to the hotel. An easy ten miles to start the day before exploring Paris, she only had a week here before she had to make the journey the rest of the way to Chamonix, and she intended to make the most of it.

She paused her Garmin as she crossed the imaginary finish line in front of her hotel, and smiled as she checked her stats. Her cadence and heart rate were right where they needed to be at this point in her taper. Everything was shaping up nicely for a good race despite everything that had happened before, and she desperately needed to have a good race. After all, that’s what Hoka One One paid her to do. All she had to do was wear the shoes and win the races, or so it seemed.

She had been ecstatic when Hoka had approached her with a professional mountain ultra running contract that she didn’t even give it a second thought before signing it, thus securing her fate being coached by the world famous Logan Hazen. Famous, though he may be for producing top notch runners, he was also famously rumored for using unorthodox methods of coaching. Methods that included near starvation, humiliation, and violence on occasion. They’re just rumors, she had foolishly thought, but it wasn’t long until her worst fears became a reality. But that last time, that last time had been the final straw, she had packed her bags and flew to France without telling anyone two weeks early, landing in Paris, rather than Chamonix, hoping to throw her coach of the scent so she could go into the race healthy.

“Bonjour mademoiselle de Chagny,” the high-pitched squeak of the front desk receptionist pulled her out of her thoughts.

But as soon as she looked up her eyes widened and she froze as she spied the man at the front desk. His back was turned to her, but the bright blue Hoka One One jacket and dark brown locks were unmistakable. It had to be Logan, but how did he find me? Not bothering to respond to the clerk, she turned on her heel and sped back out the door.

How could she have been so stupid? She must have left some sort of trail, maybe he had seen her boarding pass before she left and simply called every hotel in Paris to find out where she was staying. Perhaps he had hacked into her emails and found the confirmation message. Perhaps he’d had her chipped with some sort of tracking device while she was asleep one night. All could’ve been likely, but the fact of the matter was Logan was in Paris and knew where she was staying.

She kept running at a blistering pace, every once and a while throwing glances over her shoulder to see if he was following. 

“Regardez oú vous allez!” Someone shouted as she spun out of the way, narrowly missing them, but her momentum carried her further than she intended, causing her to fall flat on her ass.

She sighed as she surveyed the damage, it was all minimal, thankfully. Well, it might’ve not been Logan, he didn’t even turn around so there’s no way of knowing for sure. She looked back the direction she had came, no one had followed her. She stood up and dusted herself off before taking off in the direction she had been going. Best not to take any chances.

It was then that an idea started to form in her head and she slowed down to pull out her phone. She opened the Google app and typed in her destination, smiling as she saw that it was a few miles from where she was. I suppose there’s no harm in checking it out. And with that she changed her course for the Opera Populaire.

There was a lot of uncertainty when it came to her family’s past, she knew that she was descended from a line of French nobility, and that a young Vicomte by the name of Raoul had married an opera singer and moved to America. But before that things get sort of muddled, there are tales of horror, and tragedy, and above all else, the legend of the opera ghost. She remembered her father telling her the tale of the Opera singer, Christine, and the opera ghost that fell in love with her. The legend went that Christine had been singing the lead in his very opera when he had stolen her right off of the stage. But the Vicomte had gone after them and managed to rescue her, but you can’t kill a ghost, so they moved to America. And that’s where the de Chagny line continued.

She wasn’t sure if she believed all of that, but she did know that Christine, her great-great grandmother had performed at the Opera Populaire, and that fact alone was enough to draw her towards the building.

It didn’t take long for Allison to become aware of how hot it was rapidly becoming, by the time she finally stumbled upon the steps of the Opera Populaire the dam had broke, and the sweat began to pour.

A little gasp escaped her as she looked up at the ominous building before her, the windows had been boarded up, and its walls had fallen victim to vandals and graffiti artists alike, but its beauty was not lost on her. Being an American, she rarely had the privilege of seeing such beautiful architecture that suggested when something was a historical relic. Beautiful buildings were a dime a dozen over there, but this one stole her breath away. She looked around her, noticing that the various streets and walkways were pretty much abandoned like the old Opera House. She wasn’t sure if it was merely a coincidence, or if it had something to do with the old building, but she supposed she was thankful. That meant no one would see her go inside. She strode up to the building, unafraid, took a deep breath, and slipped inside through a gap in the wooden panels.

She had not been prepared to be attacked by dust, as an avalanche of it was thrown in her face at the first disturbance it had felt in years. She fought the urge to cough and held up her phone light to get a better look at her surroundings.

The room was large and lavish with a grand staircase and high ceilings, it must’ve been some sort of grand hall. She jumped at the sight of a tall sculpture about 10 feet in front of her, and quickly laughed at herself for being silly. Surely the Opera Ghost was long gone at this point.

She caught sight of a light switch just behind it, and strode over to flip it. Much to her surprise, the room was suddenly set ablaze by dozens of electric candles, and she got her first full glance. The room was even bigger than she had originally thought, with various portraits hung upon the walls with little descriptions mounted beneath them. 

“So they had meant to make it into a museum, then?” She wondered out loud as she went from painting to painting, reading as she went. Right before she got to the staircase, she stopped in front of a portrait of a magnificent, fierce looking woman with an olive complexion, clutching a severed human head and victoriously holding it out in front of her.

The description read: “Carlotta Giudicelli, leading Soprano from 1871-1880, pictured as Cadenza in Chalumeau’s Hannibal…”

Allison had already grown bored of the monotonous description, for it didn’t match the woman depicted, and decided it was time for her to ascend the grand staircase ahead of her. Luckily her background in mountain running had allowed her to make short work of the steps, if anything was to be said for the day, she chuckled to herself as she mused, “at least I got a little bit of vert in.” 

Once at the top of the stairs entered what seemed to be the auditorium. An even taller room, but filled with chairs, and the walls lined with private boxes and figures of angels. She had to do a double take at one of the boxes, as she the form of a man caught her eye, but upon further inspection she saw that it was only a mannequin. She wondered for a minute if it was just some prank, or if that was deliberate. The room was covered with various props from productions with the same methodical descriptions by each one that she saw beneath the paintings in the entrance.

“If only they’d finished the renovation,” she thought to herself as she marveled at the various props and costumes set up around the perimeter. This did not stifle her intentions of seeing the entire Opera House, however, she intended to go through the entire place with a fine-toothed comb to unearth some the mysteries of the place.  
There was only one portrait in this room, and it was much larger than the ones she had seen in the entrance. It was just as tall, if not, taller than Allison was, and it contained the figure of a young woman, scantily clad, holding a basket of roses, looking back at the viewer over her bare shoulder. She had long, flowing, dark curls that cascaded down her back and framed her porcelain face, which was complimented by ruby red lips. 

Allison gasped as she read the description, “Christine Daaé, leading soprano from 1880-1881, pictured here as Aminta in Don Juan Triumphant, which was consequently the last production she would appear in due to the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera.”

The caption went on to say more about her marriage to the Vicomte and moving to America to pursue her singing career in New York, but Allison kept reading the last line over and over again.

“This portrait is believed to be a piece by the Opera Ghost himself, as it was recovered from the fifth cellar of the Opera House, along with various other artifacts that were proof of his existence.”

So it was true, or at least true enough to make an entire city believe. It was then that she realized that all of the artifacts on the stage were ones that had been recovered from the Opera Ghost’s home beneath the Opera. A grand Organ, several violins, and various other instruments that Allison didn’t know the names of, an infinite portfolio of sheet music, animatronic devices and inventions, but one thing caught her eye above all else. A barrel organ with the figure of a monkey attached to it. If you had asked her what drew her to it, she could not have told you, only that she had been pulled towards it by an invisible rope. Before she knew what she was doing, she began to turn the knob, and it began to play a hauntingly sweet melody. She suddenly got an uneasy feeling that she was being watched, and began to back away slowly.

This proved to be a mistake, because with her last step, her foot crashed through a hollow spot in the floor, which must’ve been some sort of trap door. She had no idea how long she had fallen, but it seemed like ages in the darkness. Down she plunged, until the faint light from the trap door showed her just how quickly the stone floor was approaching. Without thinking, she had turned over on her stomach in the air and put her arms out instinctively, a rookie mistake. There was a distinct crack, and then searing pain emanated through her rib cage, arms, and her right leg. She put forth all the effort she could manage to remain conscious, but the pain, and possibly a head injury had caused the corners of her vision to fade to black until she slipped into it completely. Her last thoughts being, “Oh God, I’m going to die in this place.”

Tears threatened to spill, as Erik watched them from behind Apollo’s Lyre. Christine. His Christine. The one to whom he had given the most sacred part of himself, his music, had just professed her love to that… that boy. 

His yellow eyes followed them as they sauntered off through the door that would lead them back down to the interior of the opera house, and when they were out of sight the tears began to fall. Christine was supposed to be different. Sure, she had ripped his mask off without warning that one time, but he could hardly fault the poor girl for her curiosity now, despite being blinded by rage at the time. She was supposed to be his. For months he had taught her, poured his music into her, and helped her rise to stardom before the eyes of the city, and how did she repay him? By taking up with the Vicomte without so much as a thought paid toward her angel of music.

He could feel the rage coursing through his veins now. He would make them pay. Oh yes, they would pay. Poor Erik, always poor Erik. Well, not this time. He made his vow to the heavens, and vanished from the rooftop, leaving no trace of his presence. Down he went, down past the fly tower, down past the auditorium, careful not to make a sound. One flick of his wrist, and the door to one of his many secret passageways slid open, and with the silent efficiency of a lynx stalking its prey, he strode through it. 

He had all but made it through the first cellar when he heard it. The loud splintering of wood, followed by the blood curdling sound of cracking bones was enough to snap him out of his trance, and alter his course. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the source, his uncanny ability to see in the dark had proven unnecessary as the light spilling in from about five meters up revealed its source.

Erik made a beeline for the poor soul who had fallen victim to a neglected trapdoor, which he had placed right on the stage for easy access in his more ambitious days. He knelt down to get a better look, and was quite taken aback by what he saw.

It was a woman, or so he thought, at first glance something about her seemed rather odd. I don’t remember approving this outfit for the Corps de Ballet, but he quickly pushed that thought from his mind, as he noted the urgency and extent of her injuries. After a quick examination, he could tell that both her right leg and arm were both broken in some capacity, and she was fully unconscious. The bruises forming along her right temple were definitely of concern, and there’s no way she could’ve landed in that manner without breaking a rib or two. There was no way he could just leave her there, though he would like nothing more than to be left alone with his music. If he were to leave this strange woman there, she surely would die, for this section of the first cellar was seldom traveled by others. And while he wasn’t against murder, having just committed the act earlier that night, he had never killed a woman. And leaving her to die was pretty much the same thing, or so he reasoned.

Besides, he couldn’t leave that gaping hole in the stage, he would have to patch it tonight to avoid the possibility of being discovered. And no one would ever hear her, no one would ever find her. Erik sighed, rubbing the masked side of his face in frustration. I guess you’re coming with me then.

Before hoisting her up into his arms he did a quick examination of her abdomen, doing his best to not come into contact with her skin and determined, much to his chagrin, that due to the bruises that had begun forming he should be as delicate as possible with her. And he did just that, he wrapped her arm around his neck, placing one hand at the bend of her knee, and his other gently caressed the firm muscles that lined her back, his long fingers wrapped around her rib cage but he was careful not to squeeze at all.

Despite his tall, thin frame, carrying her down to his home had been effortless. She had begun to stir once when they were in the boat, as he took them to his home across the lake. His eyes widened, and he visibly stiffened, fully preparing for her to open her eyes and scream. They always scream. But she remained unconscious, much to Erik’s relief, left to whatever nightmare she was living in her dreams at that moment. 

Jumping gracefully out of the boat, and tying it to the cleat he had fashioned for docking purposes in one fell swoop, he bent down to carefully scoop his new house guest up. He moved silently along the banks, singing softly so as to keep the woman in his arms asleep, should any unexpected jostling cause her to wake up. Once in the Louis-Philippe room, he gently laid her down upon the satin sheets that adorned the simple mahogany bed in the middle of the room, and with that he set to work


	2. The Chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the first chapter, don't bring your laptop to a brewery with friends that like to gas you up.

_“Where have you been, I’ve been worried sick?” Logan’s icy blue eyes bore into hers. The vein in his forehead began to throb like it always did when he was angry, and Allison could feel the fear rise within her._

_“It’s nothing, Logan. I just went to hangout with some friends.” Everything within her was screaming RETREAT. She knew she should tread lightly._

_“Oh so I guess tomorrow’s race, and all of our hard work means nothing to you?” The volume of his tone growing ever so slightly, she could see the venom in his gaze. “I mean, fuck me, right?”_

_“I’m sorry Logan, but I got back befo-“_

_“Don’t give me that ‘I’m sorry’ bullshit,” He cut in. “You were out with HIM, weren’t you?_

_“Who?” Allison could sense that his fury was at an all time high. She’d heard about his tendencies towards anger from other runners, and even knew that he had been known to get physical with his athletes if they were insubordinate. But she’d had a hard time believing it until tonight. He had always been cordial to her, and after months of being in his care she was starting to think all of the rumors were actually myths. She knew she had tested the limits tonight though. She had seen him tense up whenever Thomas was around, though he was nothing more than a friend to her. She just figured that getting back to the hotel early would save her from Logan’s line of questioning._

_“You know damn well who,” he spat, advancing towards her with growing aggression. “I thought you were serious about wanting to win.”_

_“Of course, I’m serious,” Allison took a step back. “He’s just a friend, he wanted to be there for moral support.”_

_“Oh I’m sure he wants to do much more than that,” He took another step towards her, his eyes wild with rage. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking abo-“_

_Before she could finish, Logan lunged toward her. She tried to dive out of his way, but he caught her left wrist, and yanked her forcefully back toward him, his fingers digging into the skin, It wasn’t long before her blood began to run down to her elbow._

_Allison cried out in pain as she fell back into him, he turned her to face him, his face centimeters from hers._

_“I do not have time for foolish school girls and their whims, I coach serious athletes,” he seethed, “so you better start acting like one or there will be hell to pay.”  
Before Allison could respond, a firm hand landed hard upon her cheek. ___

__Allison shot upright in bed before the searing pain that shot through her ribs caused her to fall back down onto the bed. It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence to have dreams of past encounters with her coach, but they never got any easier to handle._ _

__She groaned as she made to stretch her arms and legs, but the pain that shot through them caused her to stop short. What the hell happened last night?_ _

__She did a quick self-examination to assess the damage. Her leg was splinted and bandaged, as was her arm. Though she couldn’t see them due to the crop top she could feel that her ribcage was bandaged as well._ _

__Then the realization hit her. _Oh yeah, the fall. _She couldn’t remember much after, but she remembered feeling as though she would die in that abandoned opera house.___ _

_____Then where am I now? _Her eyes popped open at the thought, and she carefully surveyed her surroundings. She was in a room lit by several candelabras, their light flickering off the dark walls. It was furnished with a wardrobe and a nightstand, also a desk situated next to the nightstand against the wall, and obviously the elegant mahogany bed with satin sheets she found herself in now. There were two doors, both of which were closed. Though the room was windowless, the light from the candles was comforting. _Who the hell uses candles as a light source anymore? _______ _ _

________She strained to try and remember anything from the time between the fall and now, but there was nothing save for the nightmare. She cradled her head in her hands, doing everything she could to fight off the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t race in this state. Months of training for her peak race wasted, and for what? She had no idea where she was, for all she knew she could be held captive by an axe murderer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Good evening,” A deep, velvety voice drifted over to her from the far corner of the room. “Glad to see you’re awake.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Forgetting about her injuries, she shot up in surprise as she spied the yellow eyes in the shadows, groaning as she was quickly reminded of her ailments._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Careful,” the voice chided, “you’ve done quite a number on yourself, mademoiselle.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” She thanked God that her family had had the sense to pass down the French language._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Why my dear, I am the Opera Ghost,” she sensed his smirk from across the room. “And you are in my home, under the Palais Garnier.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Very funny,” Allison gave a nervous laugh, trying to keep calm, “who are you really?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I am who I say,” with that the voice stepped out from the shadows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Allison gasped at the sight of him. He was tall, incredibly tall, he must’ve been head and shoulders over her, and she wasn’t exactly short herself. He was dressed formally in a black suit, waistcoat, and trousers, save for his dress shirt, and a white dress shirt in contrast, he also wore a heavy black cloak, which was draped over one shoulder. His hair was jet black and slicked back, which was off set by the white porcelain mask that covered the right side of his face. His left side was quite striking as well. High cheek bones, angular jawline, perfect lips that were now curled into a smirk. She’d be lying if she didn’t find him just a bit alluring._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Frightened, mademoiselle?” The smirk grew into a grin, his mouth opened slightly to reveal perfectly white teeth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I do not frighten easily, monsieur.” Her eyes narrowed to meet his, determined not to let her fear show._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ah, and I am not easy to fool,” he chuckled as he slung his cloak off his shoulder and onto the chair situated in front of the desk. With slow, deliberate movements, he approached her. As she listened, she noticed that she could not hear his footsteps, which explained how he was able to enter the room unnoticed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Interesting accent,” he mused as he strode over, lowering himself onto the chair by the bed. “American?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Allison nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“But fluent in French?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“My family is French, the language was passed down over generations.” She straightened slowly, wincing slightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What brings you back to France?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And more importantly, what brings you to the cellars of my Opera House?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m here for work, monsieur,” she decided it would be best to be as vague as possible for now, she appreciated this stranger’s kindness, but she would be foolish to trust him completely. “I was on the stage-“_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You shouldn’t have been,” he cut in, his face expressionless._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know, I couldn’t help myself.” She sighed. “But something startled me, and I took a step backwards, but my foot went right through. I just remember falling.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Puzzled, his eyebrows knit together. That trapdoor shouldn’t have given way, at least not for years._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Get some rest, mademoiselle.” He grabbed his cloak and slung it back around his shoulders as he got up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Where are you going? And what’s going to happen to me?” She tried to keep the concern from her voice, but it was no use, it seemed as if she was doomed no matter what._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I have work to do,” he strode towards the door, turning just as he reached it, “rest, it will help.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And with that he disappeared without a sound, leaving Allison stunned. She fell back with an exasperated sigh, hardly noticing the pain from the impact. There was no way he could be who he implied he was, which meant she still hadn’t a clue where she was or who had saved her, for he hadn’t given her his name. Thankfully, she hadn’t given hers either. There was nothing to do now but let sleep take hold. And so she gradually slipped back into the darkness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Gritting his teeth Erik stalked down the passageway that took him directly from the first cellar to his home in the fifth cellar. Due to the late hour the auditorium had been completely abandoned, rehearsals having ceased hours ago, mending the trapdoor had been quick and painless._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It also gave him extra time to consider his current predicament. He hadn’t really had time to let the full weight of Christine’s abandonment weigh on him, until now. The sting felt just as fresh as when he had witnessed it with his own eyes as the memory played over and over in his head. Oh how they sung and professed their love for each other on the rooftop, each word a dagger right through Erik’s heart. _They would pay, oh would they pay. Christine for her betrayal, and the young Vicomte for stealing her away from me. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He treaded silently through the entrance to his home, and down the hallway into the drawing room, letting his mind wander to his newly acquired housemate. He surmised that she must be one of Antoinette’s ballet rats, though he had to confess, he’d never seen her before. It was not unfair to assume that she was a new edition, and likely was out past curfew exploring the opera. As for her attire, he would have to have a word with the ballet mistress, and the managers as he most certainly did not approve this costume choice for the Corps. What in God’s name had possessed them to cut actual pants so short, and her shirt was cut off an inch above her navel, exposing the lean muscles that lined her abdomen. How this would fit into Hannibal was beyond him, he would be writing a strongly worded note as soon as possible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Perhaps she could be of use _he thought as he found himself walking towards the door to the Louis-Philippe room. _Giry will not divulge Christine’s secrets to me, she is like a daughter to her. But perhaps when she is healed, the girl will prove useful. _He extended a gloved hand and deftly turned the knob, entering the room without disturbing its occupant.____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He was pleased to see that she had heeded his advice and succumbed to sleep. Before, he had been too wrapped up in setting her bones and dressing her wounds to really see her, but now, free from distraction he was able to note the hint of red in her hair as it was accented by the candlelight. Not entirely unfamiliar. It was pulled back from her face, which gave him access to her well-defined jawline that sloped down to her narrow chin. Her lips were full and parted slightly as she slept._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He remembered how she felt in his arms as he carried her down to his home. She was small and light, but solid, as if the entire weight of her was pure muscle. _She must be in the Corps then, it’s a pity they will be without such beauty for a few months. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His plan began to unfold there before him, he would keep her down here, nurse her back to health and earn her trust, eventually she would rejoin the ballet but report back to him with information on his beloved Christine and her new lover. But how to gain her favor?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His thoughts were disturbed as she began to stir, not unlike the way she had on the boat. This time the stirring began to progress, and she started to thrash and whimper. He hurried over to her, almost placing his hands on her shoulders but stopping just shy centimeters above her. Her eyes shot open as she cried out, her breathing was ragged and wild as she came to her senses._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“That was quite the dream,” he quickly pulled his hands back, retrieving a glass of water from the nightstand and extending it to her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“More like a nightmare,” she nodded at him in gratitude as she tipped the glass to her lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Next time I’ll be sure to give you some medication, it should provide a dreamless sleep,” he took the glass back and returned it to its spot on the nightstand.  
“Please monsieur, will you allow me to contact someone? Just to let them know what happened and that I’m okay?” She pleaded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I will let all the necessary parties know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think it’s time we discuss the extent of your injuries, and the plan moving forward.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Allison groaned as she eased back onto the pillows, the thought of Logan’s rage when he would find out weighing heavy on her mind. “Go on, doc. What’s the damage?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I’m sure you can tell, your right arm and leg are both severely fractured, as well as a few ribs-“_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“And you set and splinted all of it?” She cocked an eyebrow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I did.” He said, taken aback by the sudden outburst._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Suddenly she looked down, running a hand over the bandages that wound all the way up her abdomen, partially covered by her sports bra. Her eyes grew wide, as she realized just how much of her he must’ve seen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I assure you, your modesty was preserved, mademoiselle,” he mentioned, sensing her alarm. “I am nothing if not professional.”  
“Y-you’re a doctor?” The tension began to leave her shoulders._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I am many things,” his tone was cryptic, but she held his gaze. He noted the strange color of her eyes, a rare lighter shade of brown, but with little flecks of gold in them. From a distance the whole iris appeared a stunning shade of yellow that was almost golden, unlike his which were a much more uninviting sort of yellow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“So,” she cast her eyes to the ground. “I suppose you’re going to take me to the hospital.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Why on earth would I do that?” He scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “My dear, we are well below the earth’s surface here,” his eyes softened as he remembered he would need to earn her trust to put his plan into motion. “There’s no way you could make that climb in your current condition.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Allison sighed in frustration, she hung her head in defeat. A lone tear began to make the journey down her cheek._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I assure you, mademoiselle we will have you mended in no time, then it’ll be back to the ballet with you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Ballet?” she gave him a quizzical look. “What ballet?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Erik’s eyes narrowed, “Do not play games with me, mademoiselle.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“I’m not playing games, monsieur.” She let the venom spill from her lips as her eyes bore into his. “The Opera House has been boarded up for years, I snuck in, and I fell because the stage floor was in poor condition due to neglect.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Erik’s brow furrowed with worry as he eyed the bruising along her temple. _Perhaps her head injury is worse than I thought. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“You are mistaken, you fell through one of my many trapdoors. Forgive me if you are not part of the ballet, I just assumed it due to your build.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“I’m not mistaken,” she moved her hands up to massage her temples, as the pounding sensation in her head amplified. “I was out running and decided to run to the Opera House. I slipped in through a gap in the boards, and began reading the captions that were under various pictures in the foyer. I had no idea they thought to make this place a museum. I made my way to the auditorium where they had various props and artifacts on the stage, and I took a step back and the floor gave way.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“Out running?” He gave her a disbelieving look._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“That was your takeaway?” She sighed, “I’m an ultrarunner monsieur. I get paid to race distances up to a hundred miles, one day maybe more.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Okay, so she’s totally deranged. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Of course you are, mademoiselle. And I’m Napoleon Bonaparte.” He bowed low so as to rub in the jest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Why don’t you believe me?” The sadness in her eyes quickly being replaced with anger, as she raised a fist in frustration, which Erik caught. He traced his fingers over the smooth, raised skin that formed the four parallel scars on her wrist. Remembering a self-defense tactic she had learned, she wrenched her arm free by pulling it towards his thumb._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“I believe that you are capable, or at least were, but they would never let anyone, let alone a woman attempt such a feat.” Erik found himself leaning forward again, he was growing tired of whatever game she was playing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“What is this, the nineteenth century?” She threw her head down into her hands, quickly regretting the sudden movement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________With that he stood up, pushing down his desire to rap his bony fingers around her pretty throat. Winning her trust was going to prove to be a challenge, but he would be patient. He would do what it took to save his beloved Christine from that boy. He left her and returned with a glass of reddish/brown liquid and set it down on the nightstand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Drink this, mademoiselle. You need your rest,” he turned but stopped when he reached the doorway, “we will speak once you wake.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Ghost Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter title is a Kanye West song reference. Sue me, it came up on my "Erik" playlist appropriately named, "Rat Trash Sewer Man". I'm bad at summaries, it's better if you just read it. Yes, certain scenes are gratuitous, I'm writing this for me, remember? I kid, thank you for reading! And sorry about these hot mess express chapter notes!

The laudanum had the desired effect, Allison slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke all of the candles were fresh, and lit, and she was alone. She struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, but managed to fight the stabbing pain in her ribs.

A strange sort of music, lilting and rich teased at her senses. The sound of an organ being played skillfully and faintly sounded from another room, as if out of courtesy for her.

She knew she probably shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself, she had to find the source. She swung her good leg out of the bed and onto the cold stone floor with ease, however, the other leg was a different story. She inched it slowly to the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to cry out in pain with each small movement. With both feet planted on the floor, she pushed all of her weight onto her good leg, catching herself on the nightstand to offset the overcompensation. 

To say that she limped into the hallway would be a hilarious overstatement. A more accurate description would be to say that she struggled to the hallway. Her leg would not support any weight at all, so she found herself hopping up and down on her good leg, with one arm glued to the wall at all times for support.

She couldn’t have told you the layout of the house in that moment, the only thing guiding her was the haunting melody that seemed to call out to her, almost as if it wanted her to follow. And thus, she passed down the hallway without a second thought as the melody led her into a drawing room of sorts.

She spied her masked captor at the organ across the room, but his back was turned to her. While he was tall and slender, she couldn’t help but notice how broad his shoulders were. He had shed the cloak, the jacket, and his waistcoat, which left him in his white dress shirt with the ruffled collar and black trousers. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his long fingers floated effortlessly over the keys. He was truly something to behold.

The second she stepped into the doorway the music stopped, his back straightened, and she paused, wondering how in the world he had heard her.

“Good morning, mademoiselle,” he hadn’t even bothered to turn around as he dipped a quill into the inkwell and began to write furiously.

“How did you-“

“My dear, all of Paris heard you stumble down that hallway,” he turned and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You really shouldn’t be on your feet, you need to be resting.”

“That music,” Allison sighed and slumped against the wall, “I had to get closer.”

“You liked it, huh?” He shot her a smug grin.

“It was lovely, it felt as if it were beckoning me closer.” 

“Come,” he gestured toward the sofa that sat near the middle of the room, “sit down, and let’s get that leg elevated.”

He held out his hand as if he had wanted her to take it, but quickly withdrew it before she could accept it, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Nonetheless she expressed her gratitude as she lowered herself onto the cushions, and he slid the ottoman under her legs, being careful to avoid jostling the broken one.

“Monsieur, if I may ask, what is your name?” She blinked up at him curiously.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on the chair opposite her, “Erik.”

“Erik…?” She inquired.

“Just Erik.” His face grew cold suddenly, devoid of all emotion.

“Fair enough,” she decided it best to continue on amicably rather than argue, after all he was her key out of this place, and he technically did save her life. “I’m Allison.”

“Allison…?” Erik mimicked.

“Just Allison,” she shot back. “For now.”

The silence hung in the air as Allison contemplated what to say next. 

“You play beautifully, Erik,” she shot him a smile, not missing the sight of his jaw clenching. “I saw you writing something down after playing, are you a composer as well?”

“As I said, mademoiselle, I am many things.” His face remained expressionless.

“So that’s a yes?” She would be damned if she wouldn’t get through to him.

Erik shrugged, and began examining her leg, poking and prodding as if it could reveal its secrets to him from his touch. It was amazing how he could touch her in the name of medicine, but when it cam to something as simple as touching hands he just couldn’t seem to do it.

“Well, it’s coming along as well as you would expect after three days.” He mused.

“Three days!?” Allison stared at him in disbelief. Sure she had a hard time keeping track of the passage of time in this windowless prison, but there’s no way she had been awake for more than a few hours since she had woke up the first time.

“Well, you did drink the whole glass of laudanum.” He stated.

“That was laudanum!?” Allison’s eyes widened. “I could’ve died!”

“I figured you would’ve asked if you didn’t know what it was.” Erik reasoned.

“I figured you would’ve told me if I was drinking something dangerous,” she sank back into the sofa.

“And why would you figure that?” His smug grin was back. Check mate. “After all, we’ve only just met.”

Allison scratched her head as she thought of a response, “Be nice to me, I have a head injury.”

Erik chuckled quietly as he continued his examination. 

There it is, she thought, some humanity.

As Allison looked around the drawing room, the more she began to believe that it resembled what a room would look like in the nineteenth century. In fact, nothing about the place indicated anything from her world. The quill and ink? The candles that are literally everywhere? Who the hell uses laudanum these days? There were books neatly organized on a shelf in the corner, stacks upon stacks of sheet music, and a desk that had what looked to be an oil painting on it. She squinted her eyes to get a better look, but it was hopeless, she would not be able to see it unless she walked over there. And that was not an option at the moment.

“Monsieur?”

“Hmm?” Erik had moved on to examining her wrist.

“I-“ Allison looked down at her running clothes, and all of a sudden was all too aware of how gross she was. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for a shower?”

“Shower?” 

“Yeah,” Allison hesitated. 

“A shower. Because I’m like,” she gestured wildly at her clothes and hair, “disgusting.”

“Ah, of course,” realization hit Erik. He stood and swiftly strode towards the doorway, “I will draw you a bath at once.”

Bath? That IS some nineteenth century shit. But nonetheless she was grateful. It had hit her all of a sudden that she had spent three days marinating in her own sweat, and she imagined she probably looked just as gross as she felt.

It wasn’t long before Erik returned. It was a struggle, but she managed to stand, but dreaded the long walk back down the hallway. She took one hobbled step, and groaned silently at the pain that shot through her leg.

Okay, so I can’t put any weight at all on it. Awesome. She heard a muffled sigh, and watched as Erik hesitantly held out his hand. His eyes were cast to the ground, as if he’d rather be doing anything else, but she accepted it graciously. They slowly made their way down the hallway, Erik had slumped down so she could throw her arm around his neck, and he made it a point to significantly shorten his strides. However, his impatience was evident. He held her as far away from his body as he could manage, his eyes were positioned on the door at the end of the hallway, as his jaw locked in annoyance.

Despite his attempts to keep his distance from her, she could still feel his body heat radiating off of him. She was still in her running crop top and shorts, meant for running outside on a hot August day. Here, in Erik’s home, there was quite the chill, and she had been acutely aware of it the moment she woke up for the first time. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to step closer to him. For one, it only would’ve annoyed him further, and she still hardly knew a thing about him. And second, she couldn’t find it within her to put anymore trust in someone who had literally abducted her. Okay, saved me.

Once inside the washroom, he gently sat her down on a little seat that was in the corner of the room. Bending down on one knee, he carefully lifted her leg and began removing the wrappings and the splint. He did the same with the one on her wrist, but hesitated as he eyed the wrapping around her torso.

His eyes moved slowly up to meet hers, and he softly spoke, “do you trust me?”

“No, I don’t,” she stated matter-of-factly, “but what choice do I have?”

He nodded as he carefully unraveled her, making a conscious effort to avert his eyes as he helped her undress the rest of the way.

“I do appreciate the effort,” she joked, desperately needing to lighten the mood. She gathered that he wasn’t enjoying this any more than she was. “There’s no way I could’ve done this without help.”

“You’ll be able to do it on your own in no time,” he helped her over to the edge of the tub, making sure he kept his distance, and his eyes on anything but her.

Allison sank down into warm water and instantly felt better in every way. The warmth soothed the various aches and pains sustained from her fall, and at the same time halted her shivering and raised her core temperature. All of the dirt, blood, and sweat she had accumulated were being washed away with each passing second, and she couldn’t help but let out a contented sigh.

“I will leave you to it, mademoiselle,” he stood and turned his back to her, “call for me when you’re finished.”

And with that, he was gone, and she was left to her own devices. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a bath, she must’ve been a child. She didn’t waste any time, she spied on the little vanity right next to her a variety of scented oils and soaps and quickly got to work. She grabbed one without bothering to examine it and began lathering it along the length of her good leg, and along the exposed part of her splinted leg being careful around the bits that were swollen and misshapen. Having one arm was proving to be problematic, and not being able to twist or bend without crying out in pain wasn’t ideal. But she got it done.

Finally she began lathering it into her hair, inhaling the rich scent of lavender. She couldn’t quite stifle the moan that escaped her lips as she softly massaged her scalp, but she quickly clasped a hand over her mouth. She already knew that Erik had impeccable hearing, and that was by far the last thing she wanted him to hear.

She dipped her head below the surface and began the process of rinsing. Luckily she was just about done because the water was starting to cool, and she knew getting out was going to be a process.

“Erik?” She called out, unsure of what his plan for getting her out was.

He was there in an instant, not having made any noise at all.

She sank down into the water, suddenly shy.

Once again he averted his eyes and grabbed a towel. He held out his hand, letting her take it with only the smallest hint of a flinch at her touch. His grip was strong as he pulled her up, skillfully wrapping the towel around her before she even knew what was happening. His eyes met hers briefly before helping her up and over the side of the tub, and back down onto the little seat.

He took one look down at his now soaked through shirt and frowned. Allison couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Sorry,” she choked. “It’s just, I’ve never seen you not seem so put together.”

He ran a hand through his slick, black hair and quipped back, “And I’ve never been around you when you don’t smell absolutely rancid.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged. “But not anymore.”

“No mademoiselle,” he picked up her leg and began the process of splinting it, “not anymore.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik had done everything in his power to keep his eyes averted, but a glance here and there just couldn’t be avoided given the circumstances. She’s not Christine. He’d had to remind himself. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the form of a woman. Besides, Christine had given herself to the Vicomte, he felt he owed her nothing at the present time.

It still felt wrong, however, he had never seen a woman that looked like her. He wasn’t prepared for the hard lines that went down her abdomen, or the striations in the muscles of her leg as she put all of her weight on it. And it seemed as though her legs went on forever. Living in the opera house for so long he had seen his fair share of naked women, usually on accident. She resembled the ballerinas for the most, but even they had soft curves. Her body seemed more machine than human, as if it were capable of great things. Maybe she was telling the truth about the running thing…

He’d just about finishing checking the cast to make sure it was dry when he suddenly realized he would need to rewrap her abdomen. She must’ve realized it too, because she slowly wrapped her arms around herself.

“Mademoiselle,” he shot her an apologetic look, “it must be done. I would let you do it yourself, but you’re down a hand.”

She sighed and slowly lowered her arms. _Trust. ___

__He offered her another towel to cover all of the necessary bits as he set to work. He was nothing if not professional, no lingering glances or touches, he was all business. That didn’t mean he wasn’t screaming internally, but luckily he’d had a lot of practice keeping those emotions locked away. He finished as quickly as possible, and then went to the Louis-Philippe room to fetch one of the night shifts he’d kept on hand for Christine._ _

__When he handed it to her she cocked an eyebrow at him._ _

__“What? Do they not wear these in the future?” He teased._ _

__“Hell no,” she spat, “I don’t even wear dresses during the day, but I’ll be damned if I sleep in one.”_ _

__“Very well, be naked then,” and he spun on his heel to exit._ _

__She sighed heavily, “fine, but only because it’s absolutely freezing down here.”_ _

__He’d had to help her into the shift, but luckily it was as easy as having her hold up her arms and him tossing the shift over her head. Her hair had begun to dry in soft waves down the length of her back and he couldn’t help but be reminded of someone… but he quickly pushed the thought from his head and helped her back down the hallway and into the drawing room._ _

__Somewhere along the way he remembered that she must be hungry and thirsty, seeing as she hadn’t eaten anything in days. He went to the kitchen to fetch some sliced meats and cheeses, which she accepted graciously. He had never seen a human being devour food with as much ferocity as the small woman in front of him, and he kicked himself for not realizing sooner. He may be accustomed to going days without eating, but he forgot that most humans do need to eat every day. He resumed sitting across from her and watched with an amused look on his face as she ate._ _

__“How about some questions?” She asked once she’d had her fill._ _

__“I don’t really do questions,” he replied._ _

__“All I know about you is that your name is Erik and you’re ‘many things’,” she did her best to mimic Erik’s deep voice. “If we’re going to be stuck together for a while we should at least get to know each other.”_ _

__He sat back and crossed his arms in silent resign._ _

__“Okay, first question,” she tucked her good leg beneath her and leaned forward. “What year is it?”_ _

__“1880.”_ _

__“And you’re sure about that?”_ _

__“That’s two questions.”_ _

__She sat back and sighed, “fine, your turn.”_ _

__“What year is it where you’re from?”_ _

__“2020.”_ _

__He scoffed. “That’s not a real year.”_ _

__“Look, I don’t know how I got here, but I am certain you’re telling the truth about it being the nineteenth century, can you at least try to believe me?”_ _

___Trust. She wants me to trust her. _He had to admit that she seemed a bit too “out there” to be from this century, and who knows? Maybe time travel had become a thing in the future.___ _

____“Okay,” he sighed, “I suppose I could find it within me to believe you.”_ _ _ _

____“Are we really under the Opera House?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” a smirk began to form, “my home is under the opera house.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh this is not good,” she caught her head in her hands. “My career, everything I trained for, is ruined.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s not necessarily true. What is it that you do again?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m an ultrarunner,” her eyes lit up at the prospect of getting to talk about her greatest passion._ _ _ _

____“Which is…” he gestured for her to continue explaining._ _ _ _

____“I race people on foot over really long distances.”_ _ _ _

____“It could be an opportunity, you could invent it in this time period.”_ _ _ _

____She rolled her eyes._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, even I wasn’t convinced.” He shrugged._ _ _ _

____“Let’s set aside the fact that I am a woman from a time period where we actually had rights, that is now in a time period where we have none. Wouldn’t that drastically alter reality?”_ _ _ _

____Erik cocked his head to the side in thought and then shrugged. “Probably.”_ _ _ _

____“Wait,” her eyes had nearly doubled in size as realization struck, “you said it’s 1880?”_ _ _ _

____“I did.”_ _ _ _

____“And we’re under the Opera House?”_ _ _ _

____“Is there an echo in here?”_ _ _ _

____“You said you were the Opera Ghost when we first met…” she trailed off._ _ _ _

____“Ah, so you’ve heard of me?” He smirked. “Did they erect statues in my honor?”_ _ _ _

____His laughter echoed off of the stone walls._ _ _ _

____“Something like that,” she spoke quietly._ _ _ _

____They sat in silence for a moment, her discomfort becoming more and more apparent to him._ _ _ _

____“Why don’t I uh-“ he stood up and walked over to the organ. “Why don’t I play you something? Anything you’d like.”_ _ _ _

____But she sat there, mouth slightly agape and she had gone as white as a sheet._ _ _ _

____He sat down and began to play a soft piece that he hadn’t played for quite some time. Not since the first time he’d played for Christine._ _ _ _

_____Oh no. _His words had sent her into shock. This is the year Christine becomes the Prima Donna, and by his hand, no doubt. She couldn’t lie, the prospect of meeting one of her ancestors thrilled her to her core, but this meant that she too was in the Opera Ghost’s clutches. But he’s a man, not a ghost. And you know what? He doesn’t seem that bad. Kind of charming, in an ominous way.___ _ _ _

______It wasn’t long until Erik’s playing pulled her out of her thoughts, and she was mesmerized by the sweet melody that his fingers created. She began to swoon at the sight and sound, but she caught herself. It must be the music, it literally pulled me out of bed earlier._ _ _ _ _ _

______She fought it as long as she could, but eventually it took her. She was fast asleep before Erik had ceased playing._ _ _ _ _ _


	4. The Day The Music Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors out the ass, I'll just leave it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is named purely because today is the day the music died. I live in Lubbock, Buddy Holly's hometown, it was inescapable. Honestly, you guys can just ignore these notes, they will never be helpful. Your obedient servant... A. Ham!

When Allison awoke she found herself back in the room she’d spent most of the last five days in. For the first time in days she actually felt well rested. I swear the man is magic.

She heard the faint sound of voices coming from the other room. Yes, definitely two voices. She heard Erik’s distinctly deep, smooth voice, and it was almost as if he sounded… agitated? The other belonged to another man, but his voice was much softer, and he spoke much more calmly.

_Does Erik have a… visitor? _She wasn’t sure why she was surprised, she hardly knew the guy. He just didn’t seem like the type to entertain guests. Or perhaps that’s why he seems upset.__

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__

__“Honestly Erik, I just wanted to come check on you. I know by now you must know about Christine and the Vicomte.”_ _

__“That doesn’t give you permission to come in here unannounced, Daroga,” Erik shot back as he paced back and forth in front of the man sitting in front of him “Which way did you take down here?”_ _

__“The Rue Scribe entrance, of course,” the Daroga replied calmly._ _

__“I shall make it a point to block that entrance.”_ _

__Nadir Khan, or as Erik always referred to him, the Daroga, was the very definition of the word patient, and one of Erik’s only friends. Having known him since he was the angel of death, he had helped Erik escape the Shah of Persia, and inadvertently followed him to Paris much to Erik’s chagrin._ _

__“Honestly Erik, would it kill you to let someone in every once and a while?” His voice was serious, though kindhearted. “I only have your best interest at heart.”  
“That doesn’t mean you can just come here whenever you like.”_ _

__“Why not? You terrorize the opera house whenever you like,” Nadir smirked._ _

__“Shh..” Erik held his finger up to his lips and paused to listen._ _

__Nadir looked around in confusion, “what’s going on, Erik?”_ _

__“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Erik hurried over to Nadir, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to his feet. “This has been nice, Daroga, but you really must be off.”  
With that Erik began to pull the smaller man towards the door._ _

__“Erik, what’s that sound?” Nadir whirled around, wrenching his arm from Erik’s strong grip, only to see the last thing he ever expected to see, a woman in the doorway._ _

__“Bonjour monsieur,” the woman uttered as she hopped into the room on one leg, one hand against the wall for support._ _

__Nadir’s jaw might as well have actually dropped, and if Erik had made it a habit to wear his heart on his sleeve his eyes might have bulged out of his head. Luckily he was not the type to lose his cool._ _

__“Erik no… tell me you didn’t,” Nadir switched between glaring at his masked friend and shooting looks of concern at the woman standing before them._ _

__“Did what?” Erik shrugged._ _

__“Mademoiselle, are you alright?” Nadir started towards her. “Erik, she needs a doctor.”_ _

__“Oui, monsieur,” Allison gave him a reassuring smile, “Quite alright. In fact, I’d probably be dead if Erik hadn’t found me.”_ _

__Nadir cast a wary glance at Erik who, once again, only shrugged._ _

__“You’re not being held here against your will?”_ _

__Allison shook her head. “Quite the opposite, I was out exploring the opera house late at night and fell through a trapdoor on stage, luckily Erik found me in the second cellar and fixed me up.”_ _

__Nadir looked skeptical._ _

__“You work at the opera house?”_ _

__“Yes, she’s in the ballet, now will you please leave the poor girl alone? She suffered quite the concussion.” Erik jumped in._ _

__“You didn’t think to find a doctor?” Nadir turned his line of questioning towards Erik._ _

__“I can’t really make myself known after the chandelier incident now, can I Daroga?” Erik quipped._ _

__“Daroga? Is that your name, monsieur?” She asked in a sleepy voice._ _

__“Forgive me, mademoiselle,” Nadir bowed low, “Daroga was my title in Persia, my name is Nadir Khan.”_ _

__Erik rolled his eyes hard._ _

__Allison gave him her hand to kiss, and blushed when he pressed his lips gently to the back of her hand._ _

__“I’m Allison,” she replied, “I’d curtsy, but I’m afraid I’m down a leg.”_ _

__“No need, mademoiselle, here,” he gestured to the sofa, “have a seat.”_ _

__He helped her over to the couch with gentle, steady hands, and made sure she was situated._ _

__“Mercí monsieur Khan.”_ _

__“Don’t get too comfortable, the Daroga was leaving,” there was a hint of warning in Erik’s voice as he spoke. “Weren’t you, Daroga?”_ _

__“Alas, I’m afraid he’s right. It was simply a check-in visit.” He smiled and squeezed Allison’s hand before standing. “I shall see you both soon, we still have a lot to catch up on, Erik.”_ _

__And with that he turned on his heel as Erik followed him out the front door to the edge of the lake._ _

__“I’d go back the way you came, Daroga,” Erik said coldly, “And I wouldn’t use that entrance again if I were you.”_ _

__Nadir chuckled quietly as he reached the stairs etched out of the cavern wall that led to the Rue Scribe entrance._ _

__“She’s really quite charming, Erik,” he said over his shoulder. “It may be too early to tell, but I think she quite enjoys your company.”_ _

__“Of course she does,” Erik replied, “who wouldn’t want to spend their time with a monster who lives underground.”_ _

__Nadir climbed one step and shook his head, “you’d be surprised.”_ _

__“Get some rest, Erik. You need it.”_ _

__“So bossy, Daroga.”_ _

__“Oh and Erik,” he turned around once more, “I’m glad you’ve found something to take your mind off of Christine.”_ _

__Erik huffed as Nadir disappeared up the steps, kicking a rock into the dark abyss before turning back towards the house on the lake._ _

__My mind off of Christine. He shook his head as he stepped over the threshold and into the drawing room. Allison was right where they had left her, she was playing with some small, rectangular contraption that lit up when she pressed the side, revealing a picture of a funny looking man with red hair._ _

__“What’s that?”_ _

__She obviously hadn’t heard him come in, because the sound of his voice made her visibly jump._ _

__“Sometimes I swear you really are a ghost Erik,” she brought her hand to her chest as she steadied her breathing. “Oh it’s my phone. Can you believe it still works?”_ _

__“I’ve never seen a phone like that before,” he scratched his head, puzzled at the small light box. “Who’s that?”_ _

__His long, slender finger, pointed to the man that was her phone’s background._ _

__“Oh! That’s David Bowie, or rather, a very unflattering picture of him.”_ _

__“Who’s David Bowie?” He cocked an eyebrow at her._ _

__She brought her hand up to her forehead and sighed, “oh sweet Jesus help me.”_ _

__“He’s a musician where I’m from, one of my favorites,” Allison beamed._ _

__“Do all musicians end up… here?” He gestured to the phone._ _

__“Only the really good ones,” she smirked. “I actually have some of his songs on here, if you’d like to hear.”_ _

__“The music’s in there?” Erik just couldn’t wrap his mind around it._ _

__“Welcome to the future, baby,” Allison’s finger tapped the screen as “Golden Years” played through the phone’s tiny speaker._ _

__Erik’s eyes widened as it all left him baffled. You can take music with you everywhere in the future? Oh what a life that would’ve been, nothing would’ve made Erik happier than to have access to music at all times. Sure he had his voice, but sometimes it was nice just to experience, rather than to create._ _

__Without hesitating Allison tapped the screen and the music ceased._ _

__“Well,” she looked up at him expectantly, “what did you think?”_ _

__“Absolutely vulgar,” he scoffed._ _

__“That’s rock n’ roll,” she snapped and made her hand into a gun shape, pointing her index finger at him and mimicking the motion of cocking it. “Honestly, I’m just surprised it works after the fall and that it has a charge.”_ _

__“What other er-“ Erik cast his eyes down to his hands in his lap, “future things do you have?”_ _

__Allison squinted her eyes as she thought._ _

__“Well, there’s obviously my clothes, I doubt people nowadays dress like that.”_ _

__“Agreed,” Erik nodded._ _

__“Oh!” Allison brought her wrist up to show Erik that band that wrapped around it. “My Garmin!”_ _

__“Bless you.”_ _

__“No, silly,” Allison laughed, “it’s my watch. It can track where I’m at, read my heart rate, track how fast I’m going, my VO2 max, etc...”_ _

__“I’ve got a lot to learn, haven’t I?” Erik asked sheepishly._ _

__Erik wanted to know everything, how things worked, what happened that led to the discovery of such things. He was surprised at how much she knew, and that she was able to break most things down for him so that he was able to understand as well. Women must be well educated in the future. He thought as she explained to him how, through the use of satellites, the watch was able to track her whereabouts._ _

__“You seem to know a great deal, mademoiselle,” he spoke when she had finished her explanation._ _

__“I am many things, monsieur,” she smirked at him._ _

__Erik couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped his lips, in all honesty he was enjoying this. It was quite nice to have the company of someone who could make interesting, intelligent conversation._ _

__“Perhaps I will employ your services the next time I get the itch to invent.”_ _

__“I’d like that,” she gave him a smile that made his face feel warm. But it wasn’t long before that warmth began to fade as his mind began to drift off to Christine and her angelic voice. The elation he’d been feeling quickly turned to anger as he remembered that night on the rooftop, when she had betrayed him. They will pay. Christine will be mine._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__

__They spent their days for the most part like this, Erik had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and would accept whatever information Allison would give him. Allison would specifically ask questions about the Opera House and the intricate system of trapdoors and secret passageways with which Erik had created to move efficiently through the building. Every once and a while she would summon up the courage to ask something personal, and every time she would either be met with an icy glare, or a subject change. She wouldn’t dare ask about Christine, even though she was aching to know more, she didn’t want to push him too far._ _

__Allison had never met a more confusing human being, one moment he could be incredibly kind, sometimes even funny and dare she say it, downright charming. But he could turn on a dime and be cold and callous at any moment. It wasn’t hard to navigate those moods though, she was used to Logan who was only ever cold and callous. She never pushed, or pried, she would simply apologize and move on._ _

__As the weeks passed she found herself able to get around better on her injured leg. Her wrist and ribs had pretty much healed, and she was beginning to wonder what the plan would be once her leg was back to one hundred percent. However, it wasn’t long before that question was answered._ _

__Once again she had been in a dead sleep when the muffled sound of voices arguing woke her. Grabbing the cane that Erik had made for her, she hobbled down the hall, doing her best to not make a sound. It was futile where Erik was concerned, because she knew that he had probably heard her foot hit the ground from the drawing room, but it was unlikely his guest had the same ability._ _

__She noticed right away that the second voice did not belong to Monsieur Khan, but rather to a woman. Curious, she hid just out of sight along the wall of the hallway listening intently._ _

__“You are mistaken, Antoinette,” Erik said coolly, “there are no ballet rats down here.”_ _

__“Do you take me for a fool, Erik? Of course I know that.” The woman shot back, “Nadir told me everything, so even still, you must be keeping some poor girl down here.”_ _

__“Is it so hard to believe that there could be a girl that’s down here willingly?”_ _

__“Nadir told me she was injured and you were nursing her back to health.”_ _

__“And that’s exactly what I’m doing, she’s free to go if she wishes, but there’s this one little thing…” Erik trailed off._ _

__“What is it?” Antoinette spat._ _

__“She’s umm… not from here.” Erik’s voice wavered. For once it seemed like he couldn’t find the correct words. “If anything, I’d say she’s a bit lost. I found her in the second chamber because she fell through one of my trapdoors.”_ _

__“She’s not from here?” Antoinette sounded irritated. “What was she doing in the opera house then?”_ _

__“Like I said, she’s lost.” Allison could almost feel Erik’s eyes on her from behind the wall. “Go ahead and come out mademoiselle.”_ _

__Allison reluctantly stepped out, eyeing the woman standing in front of Erik. She had an austere look on her slightly wrinkled face, and her long chestnut colored hair was coiled tightly into a bun on the back of her head. Her long black dress covered practically every inch of her below the throat, and she too, was leaning upon a cane. Her gray eyes, which had previously been angry, softened a bit at the sight of her, showing the slightest hint of warmth beneath her cold exterior._ _

__“Madame Giry, this is Allison,” Erik gestured towards her, “Allison, Madame Giry.”_ _

__“Pleased to meet you Madame,” Allison did her best to curtsy. She had no idea what the custom of the time was, but she was trying her best to seem respectful._ _

__“Mademoiselle,” the woman nodded, a slight smile playing at the corner of the tight line that was her lips. “Erik tells me you are lost.”_ _

__“It’s a long story, Madame.”_ _

__Madame Giry did not pry, in fact she got the distinct feeling that she didn’t really want to know the real story. All she cared about was not letting another woman fall unwittingly under Erik’s spell, Christine’s ordeal had already been stressful enough, and with her engagement to the Vicomte she knew that Erik was a ticking time bomb._ _

__“I need you to put her in the Corps de Ballet, Antoinette,” Erik spoke matter-of-factly._ _

__“Why on earth would I do that?” The fire returned to the woman’s eyes as she turned to face Erik. She had to have been at least a foot shorter than him, but she held her ground all the same._ _

__“She needs to blend in, and think of it as repayment for Meg’s promotion to Prima Ballerina.”_ _

__Allison’s eyes widened at the news. Ballet? Why the fuck would he want me to be in the ballet?_ _

__“The corps is well renowned,” she turned back towards Allison, “can you dance mademoiselle?”_ _

__Allison cast her eyes to the ground, unsure of how to respond._ _

__“You see, Erik? This is madness.”_ _

__“Madame,” Allison spoke up. Though she couldn’t tell you what compelled her to. “I’ll be honest, I’ve never received any formal ballet training, but that only means I haven’t developed any bad habits to unlearn. I’ve climbed mountains, I’ve run 100 miles in one go, I can do anything I set my mind to, I’m sure of it. Don’t be afraid to take a chance on me, you won’t regret it.”_ _

__The woman continued to look at Allison, the wheels turning in her head. She would never dream of putting an untrained dancer in the Corps, but she did owe Erik, and the woman did have spirit. Truth be told, it excited her to have a chance to shape someone into exactly the dancer that would be best for the company._ _

__“Fine,” she finally answered, “we will begin lessons as soon as that leg is healed, but it will not be easy mademoiselle. I run a tight ship on and off of the stage, and I will not tolerate any nonsense.”_ _

__“Yes, Madame Giry,” Allison bowed her head. “Thank you.”_ _

__“Do not make me regret this, Erik,” Madame Giry turned on her heel, slamming the front door in Erik’s face as she exited._ _

__Erik sighed, taking Allison’s hand and leading her to the sofa, carefully sliding the ottoman under her leg. Allison pretended not to notice, but he no longer flinched at her touch._ _

__“She seems nice,” Allison teased._ _

__“She’s stern because she has to be, she plays a big part in my opera.” Erik’s face was expressionless as he took his normal seat in the armchair across from her._ _

__“Why the ballet, Erik?”_ _

__“It’ll be the easiest way to blend in up there,” he stretched his long legs out in front of him, folding his hands in his lap. “Unless you’d rather leave the opera house.”_ _

__“That doesn’t sound wise.”_ _

__“I didn’t think so either.”_ _

__As much as she hated to admit it, Erik was right about this. She would be able to blend in with the rest of the Corps rather easily, and the thought of leaving the opera house to live in an unfamiliar city in an unfamiliar time period was frightening. Plus something in this opera house got her here, if she wanted to get back to the present it was likely that the solution was nearby._ _


	5. There She Goes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We love some inexplicably soft Erik, but he's also an asshole in this chapter as well. It's called balance. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Updates might turn into weekly updates for a while, gotta race coming up soon. But fear not, I will use all of my time on the plan and the airport working on this! Also, would like to note that Logan is actually loosely based on a real running coach, Alberto Salazar, the ex-coach of the Nike Oregon Project. I don't know if he was ever actually physically abusive, but he was terrible. Anyway, that was the side not to my side note, proceed with the gratuitously self-indulgent fanfic.

Erik’s eyes shot open as a cry echoed off of the cavern walls, he found himself at his piano, sheets of music scattered before him. He had helped Allison to bed hours ago after they’d had her first rehab session. She had done so well, taking unassisted steps, but it wasn’t long before she was worn out from the effort and bid him good night.

Another cry brought him out of his thoughts once more, and without a second thought he sprinted down the hallway. He wrenched the door to the Louis-Phillippe room open, and to his surprise he found Allison sitting bolt upright with wide eyes, her chest heaving.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Concern ringing in his voice.

She was shaking, a cold sweat had broken out across her brow.

He was across the room in an instant, hands gripping her shoulders.

“Allison, listen to me,” he began to shake her gently, “look at me, it’s alright. I’m here.”

Her eyes met his, he had never seen her look so frightened, he had no idea she was even capable of the emotion. Having been impossibly strong up until this point.  
He hesitantly took her in his arms, not really sure if it was the right thing to do, after all who could actually take comfort in his arms, but at this point he was at a loss of what to do.

“It was just a-another d-dream,” she stuttered as she desperately tried to even out her breathing.

“Shh, it’s okay sweet girl,” he lightly began to brush his hand along her shoulders, hoping that at least some part of it was comforting to her. “Despite what you might think, you’re safe here.”

She sighed, and returned the embrace, catching Erik completely offguard. He did his best not to stiffen up, but in all honesty it was the first time he’d ever felt contact like that. And when she nestled her head into his chest, the scent of lavender drifting up to him from her hair, he damn near fainted.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He whispered, selfishly hoping her answer was no and that he would get to hold her just a bit longer. But she nodded, and he supposed he was relieved, if not a little disappointed.

“Very well, I shall take my leave,” he stood once more, smoothing out the creases in his waist coat. “If you need me, I shan’t be far away, you need only ask. He turned to head back towards the door before a small voice stopped him.

“Erik?”

He turned slowly to face her, her eyes cast downwards as she nervously twisted her hands into the duvet.

“Would you mind staying with me, in here tonight?”

He was at a loss for words, he never thought in a million years anyone would ask something like this of him. It was all chaste, to be sure, but someone actually wanted him there with them. Under better circumstances he would be over the moon, but he knew that now was not the time to celebrate.

“Are you sure, mademoiselle?”

She nodded slowly, shifting over in the bed slightly to make room.

He considered it briefly, but decided against it, opting to sit on the arm chair just off to the side of the bed instead.

“Erik?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind joining me up here? It’s just, I could use the contact, I think it would help.”

Once again he was speechless, unable to believe she would want this.

“I understand if it’s asking too much.”

“Of course not, mademoiselle,” he croaked as he made his way over to the bed and reluctantly laid down next to her.

It wasn’t long before she laid her head on his chest, and he found his hand absentmindedly moving up to her hair to play with it gently.

“Your heart rate is forty eight beats per minute, you must be in really good shape.”

“I’ve been known to perform some athletic feats from time to time,” he chuckled. Thanking god that his heart had not betrayed the anxiety he was feeling right at that moment.

“Did you want to talk about this dream, mademoiselle?” He inquired, “this is not the first time this has happened.”

She sighed. “I’ve just had my share of… rough encounters with certain people.”

“They’ve hurt you?” He did his best to keep the anger out of his voice  
.  
She nodded once more. “Nothing compared to what a lot of other people go through, to be sure, but these dreams are a result of it.”

He was silent for the longest time, trying to process it all. He understood it all a little too well. He had been hurt by many people, but he knew deep down he deserved it. He was a monster. But Allison wasn’t, she was strong, independent, intelligent, as well as beautiful, she didn’t deserve any of it.

Without warning he began to sing softly, just barely above a whisper, it wasn’t long before she went limp in his arms, her chest rising and falling steadily. Though his singing had ceased not long after, he never left her side that night. He laid awake, keeping watch over her, his heart breaking at every whimper and flinch she did in her sleep. Silently, he vowed vengeance upon whomever was responsible for this. He would see to it that they received a one way trip to hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik let out a heavy sigh and crumpled up what was likely to be his twentieth piece of parchment that day. His life’s work, his magnum opus, was nearly complete, and it wouldn’t be long before he could start setting the pieces into motion to win back his beloved Christine, but there was a certain housemate of his that was starting to become a distraction.

She’d been in his life for a little over two months now and she’d already begun to turn his life upside down. To him she held the answer to so many of his questions, she was able to satiate his endless hunger for knowledge about the world around him. And now that she was back on her feet again she was starting to become the source of his frustration. 

“Good god do you have to do that right now?” Erik ran his hands through his hair as the pounding of her feet on stone echoed throughout the catacombs. It was becoming damn near impossible to get anything done with that sound cutting into his every waking thought.

Allison slowed to a halt, pressing her fingers up to her neck to check her pulse. She had been back at it running back and forth along the stone pathways of cavern for nearly a week now and it hadn’t taken her long to build her mileage back up, the fitness came back so quick it hadn’t even felt like she had taken two and a half months off at all.

“Hey now,” she shot a smirk back at him. “I need to be in peak condition for Madame Giry.”

“But do you really need to do that down here, right now?” Erik still hadn’t quite adjusted to having a housemate. She had been so delightful when she spent most of her time sleeping, and her mobility was limited, now the pounding of her feet haunted him at all hours of the day.

“You could let me go outside.”

“If I could I would, my dear,” Erik turned to face her, an exasperated look upon his masked face, “but if anyone saw you doing that up there they might actually burn you at the stake.”

Allison shrugged and set off back into the cavern. She thanked her lucky stars that Erik had saved her running clothes and shoes. She had grown tired of dresses and nightgowns, pretty though they were, it felt right to be back in her element. Though she hadn’t much experience using road running shoes on stone, she silently wished she’d been wearing her trail shoes when she’d fallen. The grip on the slick rock would proven most useful.

Erik sighed and returned to composing. The woman was frustrating, there was no other way to put it. She was sarcastic, quick-witted, stubborn and she always had to have the last word, but he just couldn’t find it within himself to be angry with her for long. At first he told himself that it was because he needed her to trust him, but he had her trust now (or so he thought), and he hated to admit it but she almost had his as well. 

He needn’t focus on her now, he had to keep his eyes on the object of his desires. The very thing that inspired his music. Christine. He reminisced on all of the times they had spent together hoping that his angel would guide his hands as he put the finishing touches on his opera. Okay, so there was only that one night that we had really spent time together. And she did snatch my mask right off of my face. _And then I put the fear of God into her to keep it from happening again… ___

__His mind once again wondered off to the woman causing quite the ruckus just outside the house. Allison’s never flinched at my touch._ _

__He began scribbling notes into the empty stanzas on the page before him. She’s never betrayed my trust. Or recoiled in fear…_ _

__He had to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt to keep them from getting ink stains on them as he wrote furiously._ _

__“What are you writing?” Allison staggered in through the open door and sank down onto the sofa, kicking her feet up on the ottoman that Erik kept close by solely because he knew she would use it._ _

__It took some patience over the past couple of months, but Allison knew all about Erik’s love for Christine. She hadn’t told him her truth yet, so she’d had to play dumb when he finally started to talk to her._ _

__“The final touches to Don Juan Triumphant,” he said with pride._ _

__“Ah yes,” she sighed unfastening the quick lacing system on her shoes, “your great secret. When will I be able to hear it?”_ _

__“You’ll hear it when the rest of the world does,” his back was still turned to her._ _

__Truth be told, he’d wanted to share it with her many times, but being vulnerable wasn’t his strong suit. She wouldn’t hear it until it was absolutely perfect, until his angel would be the one singing._ _

__She shrugged before she took off out the door once more, causing Erik to groan in annoyance._ _

__“Whatever you say ‘Er Bear’”, she called out over her shoulder._ _

__Erik chuckled softly to himself, but it wasn’t long until it faded into a frown. Not that he had a problem with the pet name, she had taken to using them weeks ago, it was at how comfortable he felt at that moment._ _

__Perhaps he was growing soft, no longer the fearsome Phantom that ruled the Opera House. No, now he was ‘Er Bear’. He shuddered in disgust._ _

__And what of his angel? What would she think if she knew he was carrying on with some random woman down here in his home? No, he needed to focus. He needed to remind Allison of the situation, of who was really in charge here. And he fully intended to, soon._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__Allison couldn’t quite shake the nerves as Erik helped her into her ballet outfit. She’d never worn a corset in her life and thus far she was not a fan._ _

__“Here,” Erik handed her a package wrapped neatly with black ribbon. “You might need these.”_ _

__Allison unraveled the ribbon carefully, trying as hard as she could to keep her hands from visibly shaking. Her first lesson with Madame Giry was in half an hour and she was an absolute wreck. Not to mention this would also be the first time she’d venture to the surface since the accident. A lot was on the line. But she couldn’t stifle her gasp as she opened the box to reveal a pair of light pink pointe shoes._ _

__“You mean I can’t wear my running shoes?” She joked, trying her hardest to seem fine on the outside._ _

__“This is your role mademoiselle, your part in my opera,” he smirked as he helped her into them. “You must look the part.”_ _

__She took a step back to look at herself in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Her long auburn waves were pulled back into a tight bun at Erik’s insistence. The outfit didn’t have much polish, it was a plain white skirt that went down to just above the knee, and the white bodice to match. She supposed she was thankful that it was a simple outfit, seeing as she was already so out of her element._ _

__Erik appeared behind her in the mirror, and her eyes met his. He was careful not to get too close, but she could see the appreciation in his eyes all the same._ _

__He gave a curt nod and turned away, grabbing his cloak and hat._ _

__“Erik?” she mused, turning to face him._ _

__“Hmm?” Erik flipped the cloak across his broad shoulders._ _

__“Why am I doing this?”_ _

__“Because no one will believe you’re a ballerina if you’re wearing those ghastly running garments.” He laughed softly to himself._ _

__“No, I mean,” she looked down at the ground, “why did you want me to be in the Corps de Ballet? I could’ve probably been something more discreet, like a stagehand or seamstress.”_ _

__Erik sighed, setting his hat back down and scratching the back of his head._ _

__“I’ll be honest mademoiselle, I was kind of hoping we could help each other out.”_ _

__“So there is a specific reason?”_ _

__“My Christine, you see, she’s up there, and I’m all the way down here,” he lamented. “I have my ways of moving about the opera house without being seen, but this does not mean that I can be there every time she needs. She needs a friend, someone who can be there for her whenever she needs them.”_ _

__“You want me to be friends with Christine?” Allison’s voice seemed unsure._ _

__“I want you to be someone she trusts, whom she confides in,” Erik took a step towards her without realizing it._ _

__Not liking the look in his eyes, she took a step back in response._ _

__“You two need to be able to spend time together to get to know each other, you need to be a performer. In return you get to spend time on the surface,” his eyes narrowed. “But you must return to me each night. I shall find you if you do not.”_ _

__Allison felt the fear rise up in her throat. Where was the Erik that had nursed her back to health? That had treated her like the smartest human in the world? The Erik that would sing her to sleep when the nightmares returned? Oh how she hated how he could turn his warmth and humanity off whenever he wanted._ _

__“You want me to be a spy,” the anger rising in her voice. “You want me to manipulate Christine so that you may win her love.”_ _

__She didn’t even have time to catch her breath before she felt Erik’s hand close around her throat. She felt herself lift off of the ground and her back hit the wall with a loud thud._ _

__“I won’t do it,” she choked out, her hand violently grasping for his._ _

__“Oh but you will, mademoiselle,” his teeth bared as the venom seeped through his voice. “If you do not, you may find that this city is not kind to women alone on the streets.”_ _

__Allison clenched her jaw, determined not to show her fear. She’d made that mistake with Logan, and it gave him power over her, she wasn’t going to let that happen ever again. Just as the edges of her vision started to turn black he released her, setting her down gently._ _

__“You want my advice Erik?” She coughed, her hand rubbing her neck. Erik backed away, she couldn’t quite place it, but it almost seemed as if he felt ashamed. “Show a little humanity, she might love you then.”_ _

__Without a word they left the house behind. They made their way across the lake and up into the opera house in silence with a blindfold secured over her eyes.. Is he sulking? It was hard to tell without being able to see him, but the eerie silence paired with the rapid splashing from the gondola pole lead her to think he was indeed. The thought was certainly amusing, but the throbbing pain in her throat kept her anger fueled. She knew he could be cold and callous, but she didn’t know he was capable of such violence. He escorted her to a spot in the wall and pulled a lever, and it quickly swiveled open. He removed her blindfold, revealing a well-lit ballet studio. She stepped out into the heavily windowed room, basking in the sunlight as if it had been years since she’d seen it or felt its warmth. She turned back to see the wall back in place and Erik nowhere to be found._ _


	6. Crippled Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behold! A Christine sighting! The first of many!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently at the airport, working diligently on this. I am certain I will spend all 31 (50 km) miles I race tomorrow thinking up new things to add in to future chapters, until then, enjoy!

Erik had never felt so conflicted in his life. Part of his mind screamed at him to do whatever it takes to win Christine over, even if it meant asking too much of someone who he’d grown quite fond of. And the other part was pleading, telling him not to put the only person who’d ever shown him any sort of kindness through this.

To say he felt awful would be an understatement, he had never meant to hurt Allison, only to scare her. To assert control and bend her to his will. He should’ve expected her to push back, she’d never not pushed back since they were thrust into each other’s lives. But in that moment he was blinded by his love for Christine and his rage at Allison’s insubordination interfering that he didn’t even bat an eye as he felt the life start to fade from her. Luckily he caught himself, realizing that he didn’t want her dead, not only because she was of use, but damn it he was starting to like the girl, and he certainly didn’t intend to throw her out of his opera house if she did refuse. To be honest, he had grown quite fond of her companionship. Sure, the running thing was annoying, but it was the moments when she would laugh at something he said, or when they would read in comfortable silence together. Or even when she would fall asleep on his shoulder and the smell of lavender would come wafting off of her hair, then he would have to carry her to the Louis-Philippe room and she would fit so perfectly in his arms. He shook his head, pushing that train of thought from his mind. Anyway, the point is, he enjoyed her company and would do anything to set this right. Even if it meant he must win Christine back a different way. He couldn’t stand the loneliness of solitude anymore, he was rather enjoying having a friend.

Maybe she was right, after all Christine had chosen the Vicomte over him. Maybe there was a better way to win Christine’s heart, Raoul had made promises to her, made her feel safe, said sweet words. Now was the time to formulate a plan, his opera was nearly complete, he just had to see to it that the managers would run it with Christine as the lead. And when he finally laid eyes upon his angel he would tell her exactly how she made him feel. It was the only way.

Once safely back inside his home he made a B-line for the organ and got to work. He had a few hours before he would have to go fetch Allison, and he wanted to seize every moment of foot-pounding-free composing he could. He had never been struck with such clarity, and he’d be damned if he would let any of it go to waste.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nearly mademoiselle, but not quite,” Madame Giry’s voice rang across the studio. “From the top.” If she noticed the bruises starting to form along Allison’s neck, she said nothing, for which Allison was truly grateful.

Allison got back into first position quickly, she was used to being coached, it was the one thing she had always been good at, and if it’s one thing she knew it was to be as eager to please as possible. She heard the crack of Madame Giry’s cane as it hit the floor and she quickly moved into the next position. Madame Giry would never let on, but Allison knew she had to have been pleased with how quick she was progressing. Thankfully they got to skip a lot of the beginner stuff, those three years of ballet as a kid were finally starting to pay off.

Allison cast a leg out to the side and then into a croisé, and then whipped herself into a nearly flawless pirouette, bringing it all back home into the center.

The two of them were suddenly interrupted as the door of the studio swung open, and two young women swept in chattering loudly to each other.

“Oh Christine it’s beautiful,” the shorter blonde woman gasped as the taller brunette held out something attached to a necklace for her friend to observe.  
Christine?

“Meg Giry!” Madame Giry’s voice boomed. 

“Yes maman?” Meg tore her eyes away from the object to meet her mother’s.

“Did you not observe the sign on the door? The one that said ‘Private Rehearsal, DO NOT DISTURB?”

“No maman,” Meg cast her eyes downward.

“Forgive me Madame,” Christine chimed in, “I’m afraid I distracted her, we did not see the sign.”

“Just as well,” Madame Giry’s eyes softened. “We are just about done here. Ladies, meet our newest member of the Corps de Ballet, Allison…?”

“Devereaux. Allison Devereaux.” She shook both of their hands quickly before anyone had too much time to process it.

“This is my daughter, Meg. Our Prima Ballerina, and Christine Daaé the Prima Donna,” Madame Giry continued.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Allison was trying her best not to stare at Christine, but her life the past couple of months had already been so goddamn weird, she almost couldn’t help it. She looked exactly as she did in the portrait, different outfit, but otherwise exactly the same. Her great-great grandmother was here in front of her and she had to play it cool

“Whatever the two of you are talking about,” Madame Giry cut in, her eyes darting around the room, “you might want to be quiet about it, you never know who might be listening…”

Allison could’ve sworn she saw Christine’s face go white as a sheet, she had to have known she was talking about Erik. He had always known every move she had made, every word she uttered, it was plausible that he spent all of his time when he was away from the house on the lake skulking in the shadows and hidden passages of the opera house keeping a watchful eye on his ingénue. 

“Oh mademoiselle,” Meg gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “What happened to your neck?”

The blood drained from Allison’s face. She figured Mme. Giry knew Erik was responsible, but she had no idea how to explain it to anyone else. She knew Erik was a private person, and wouldn’t want her discussing him with anyone he did not approve of.

“Meg,” Mme. Giry’s voice had a hint of warning to it. “Why don’t you and Christine take this discussion elsewhere? We have a rehearsal to finish.”

“Yes maman,” Meg didn’t waste any time taking Christine’s hand and leading her towards the door. Christine looked back over her shoulder at Allison one last time and gave her a soft smile before she was swept out the door.

“Forgive my daughter mademoiselle,” Mme. Giry sighed. “She has a heart of gold and a mouth like the Seine.”

“Oh that’s quite alright Madame,” Allison looked down, hoping that would be the end of it.

“If you don’t mind me asking.” Damn it. “What did happen to your neck?”

“Oh this,” Allison scoffed gesturing towards the area. “It’s nothing.”

Mme. Giry lifted an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. She gestured for Allison to come stand in front of the mirror, and Allison obeyed. She winced when she saw the black and blue outlines where Erik’s hand had wrapped around her throat.

“Is everything okay mademoiselle? The older woman glanced at the spot in the wall that she had entered from earlier and whispered, “do you need help?”

“Honestly it’s nothing, just a misunderstanding.” She couldn’t tell you exactly why she was protecting Erik, but something in her gut made her feel like betraying him now would only make things worse.

“You know if you ever need to tell someone something, you can tell me, right?” Concern etched upon her aging face.

“Antoinette,” a cold voice that came from behind startled both of them. “I’ll be taking her back now.”

Allison whirled around on her heel to see Erik leaning against the wall, his yellow eyes meeting hers, but with a warmth that did not match his voice. An unfamiliar emotion began to rise within her. It wasn’t anger or sadness like when she’d had to deal with Logan’s rage. It was fear. For the first time she was truly afraid of what Erik was capable of. But she swallowed that fear and strode past him to where she knew the wall would open to the path that led down to the house on the lake.

“Thank you Madame, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she curtsied as Erik threw the lever that caused the wall to open. Without a glance in his direction she sauntered down into darkness. Erik shot an icy glance at Mme Giry before stepping inside to follow, pulling the lever on the other side swiftly.

They walked down the passage in complete silence, the rhythm of their footsteps lulling Allison into a relaxed state. So relaxed that she almost forgot she was angry with Erik. Almost. She maintained her resolve, and fully intended to do so until she got a sincere apology from the man. She could practically see the scowl on his face through the blindfold. They both held their silence until they got to the house on the lake, and Allison immediately started towards the Louis-Phillippe room, slamming the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik sighed, slamming his fists onto the organ keys in frustration, he looked up and down the hallway to see if there was any movement behind the door to the Louis-Phillippe room. Nothing.

Days had passed since he’d laid his hands on Allison and their interactions had grown sparse, resigned only to him escorting her to and from her ballet lessons. Other than that, she never left the room, not even to run. Almost simultaneously Erik hit a snag in his composing, surely it had nothing to do with the sudden cold shoulder she’d been giving him.

As crazy as it was to believe, the quiet was beginning to drive Erik up the wall. He longed for the symphony of her presence. The steady beating of her feet hitting the stone, like the building roar of a timpani. The back and forth rhythm of her labored breathing like bowstrings being pulled and pushed across a violin.

He stood, begrudgingly and found his feet were moving towards the door, and before he knew it, he arrived. He knocked carefully, and took a step back, as if he expected her to explode forth from the door. Again, nothing.

“You know,” he spoke, clearing his throat, “there’s really nothing stopping me from coming in if I really wanted to. It is my house, after all, and I think we’d both rather that not happen.”

Seconds passed before he heard the soft thud of her feet hitting the floor, followed by soft footfalls, and eventually the turning of the doorknob. The door flung open in an instant, but she was already walking back towards the bed before his eyes could adjust to the light.

“Thank you,” he breathed, taking a hesitant step inside. He noticed she was wearing her running clothes, but rather than her usual running shoes, he saw she was wearing the pointe shoes he had given her. She had moved the vanity mirror to the opposite end of the room and the sitting chair had been placed a few feet from it. She’s practicing.

The silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity before Erik finally spoke.

“You’re right, you know,” Erik’s eyes met hers. “I’m going about winning Christine all wrong.”

Allison huffed in response, turning to face him with her arms crossed.

Erik cringed when he saw the bruises that had formed along her neck by his own hand. He crossed the room towards her, holding his hand out to touch, but Allison took a step back, her stoic expression not wavering.

After all of those months of building trust, it had been lost in an instant. And he couldn’t fault her for that, he would’ve done the exact same.

“Does it hurt?” 

Allison’s eyes narrowed, “you’re a smart man, what do you think?”

“I-“ he bowed his head, “I’m so sorry, Allison.”

“You know Erik,” Allison took the smallest step forward, “you can be so warm and gentle, funny and charming, mysterious and brooding, but then you just turn on a dime and become cold and violent. I just don’t understand. I thought we were really getting along.”

“Oh mademoiselle, I want nothing more to be that kind gentleman you describe me as, but this,” he gestured towards his mask, “this is the reason I have to have that other side of me.”

“I don’t understand,” she cocked her head to the side in confusion.

“Tell me, mademoiselle,” his voice had softened, “haven’t you wondered why I wear this mask?”

“Well, I mean, yeah I’ve wondered about that,” Allison started, “but obviously you wear it because you don’t want anyone to see what’s underneath, maybe that’s because you want to protect your identity, or maybe you don’t like the look of what’s underneath, either way it’s none of my business.”

“You’re very perceptive mademoiselle, right on all counts,” he chuckled, amazed at how matter-of-factly she referred to the thing that had caused him such agony his entire life, “I do not wish my identity to be known, and I also do not like what’s underneath. Would you like to see?”

He reached up and rested his palm on the mask, awaiting her reply.

“Do you want me to see?” She countered.

Her response was unexpected, and it took every ounce of coherency for him to keep tears from forming in his eyes. He was human to her. His feelings mattered. He sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side, his head hanging low, “no, no I don’t.”

Allison’s eyes softened.

“Very well, Erik,” she started, “if and when you do, just know you can trust me.”

“I don’t doubt that mademoiselle,” he sighed before continuing, “Christine couldn’t be trusted, she tore my mask off the first chance she got. She was instantly horrified, couldn’t bare the sight of me.”

“How did you react when she did that?” Allison found herself slowly migrating closer to him.

“I was livid,” Erik continued, “I pushed her down, and called her every word I could think of.”

“She should’ve respected your boundaries,” she plopped down onto the bed next to him, curling one leg underneath her, “but did you ever think that it was your anger she feared and not your face? I’ve experienced your anger, and I was scared to death.”

“You didn’t show it,” Erik returned.

“Because I vowed to never let another man see that I was scared of him.”

“The scars on your wrist…” Erik trailed off as he began putting two and two together.

“And others I’m sure you’ve seen.” Allison turned away, suddenly self conscious realizing that he had probably seen most of them while she was unconscious all of those months ago. “I realize that you may not have been treated kindly by the world, but Christine is young. Just a girl. Be the kind, patient man I know you to be, and any woman would be a fool to not fall in love with you.”

“You flatter me mademoiselle, but I am but a demon, forced to live my hell among the living.” 

She lifted his chin with her finger so that he looked into her eyes. “You are a man, Erik. Nothing more, nothing less”


	7. Limo 4 Emos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Christine and Meg!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, also kind of necessary. Enjoy the little fourth wall break as I realized all too late how absurd it was for Allison and Meg to be picking out outfits at the last minute for a scheduled Palais Garnier approved performance. Oh well, it doesn't really matter. The author is a silly goose. Also, the ultra went well, everything hurts and I want to die, can't wait to do another! Enjoy!

A man. Erik had long since left Allison to her practicing but her words echoed clear in his mind, haunting him as he made his ascent to the world above.

It had been quite some time since he had lived as anything more than a ghost, and the prospect of leaving that world behind frightened him. So up he went, to clear his head, to see how men lived, but mainly because being so close to Allison was starting to make him anxious, though he couldn’t understand why.

The rats made criss-cross patterns in front of his feet, doing their best to steer clear of him but he paid them no mind. He kept climbing until he reached the passage he’d been looking for, maneuvering into a dark crawlspace just barely big enough for a man, and he jumped down into a dark room, dimly lit by the light that spilled through a crease in the wall, giving away his hidden door. Reaching up, he felt around until he felt the place where the wall depressed slightly, allowing the door to slide open silently. Quickly and silently he strode through, managing to slide the door shut in one swift movement. Keeping to the shadows along the wall, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting from the gas lights that had been turned down low for the evening.

He found himself in the entrance hall to the Opera Populaire, most notable from its statues of scantily clad women and grand marble staircase which branched at the first landing to the left and right. He scoffed at the gaudy decorations that lined its railing. He noted that the statues wore masks. So there was to be a masquerade after all.

He had heard rumors throughout the opera house, the odd group of chorus girls talking excitedly in hushed tones as if to keep him from overhearing. Perhaps that was why. Everyone knew of his existence now, whether he was an actual ghost or not made no difference, they were afraid. Afraid that he might show up to crash the party. The thought made a small smile tease at his lips, as he soundlessly ascended the staircase. He did admire the effort, streamers hung from the walls, mountains of confetti were stored away, ready to be released on the stroke of midnight days from now.

Oh what a spectacle it would be, the talk of the town. No doubt Christine and her precious Vicomte would make an appearance, since now she was the Prima Donna and he was the opera’s most notable patron. Ah what a match.

He made his way up to the boxes, Box Five specifically, slipping inside unnoticed. 

Even though it was after hours and the majority of the cast and crew had retired for the night he found himself standing in the shadows out of habit. His gaze wondering out over the dimly lit auditorium.

Perhaps Allison would be at the masquerade. He mused. It would be well worth making an appearance he had, dare he say it, a friend there. The evening might turn out to be fun, even if he had other reasons for being there. He would make it a point to have her there, after all, she could keep close to Christine when he couldn’t.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a simple melody that floated across the room, up over the railing, putting his mind suddenly at ease. The voice was instantly recognizable, and it simultaneously filled him with joy and dread. He peered down at the stage and his fears were confirmed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That was absolutely beautiful,” Meg beamed from the first row. “Another! Encore!”

Christine laughed as she sat down on the edge of the stage, letting her legs swing freely off of the edge of the stage. 

“Seriously,” Meg continued, “the Vicomte has no idea how lucky he is to be engaged to the most heavenly voice in the world!”

“Now you’re just being silly,” Christine blushed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, “it’s not even the best in this opera house.”

“Now look who’s being silly,” Meg jumped up on the stage to join her. “You’ve outshone and dethroned Carlotta, there’s no one left to challenge you.”

“I had plenty of help, believe me…” Christine trailed off, casting her eyes to the shadows as if someone might be listening. “It still doesn’t feel right, Carlotta should still be the reigning soprano, she’s earned it.”

“So have you,” Meg furrowed her brow. “I have ears too, you know. And they’d much rather listen to you than her.”

“You’re my friend, you have to say that.”

“I don’t have to say anything.”

And with that Meg jumped up and made her way to center stage, assuming first position and quickly whipped herself into a frenzy of flawless fouettes.

“And that’s why you’re the Prima Ballerina,” Christine applauded as Meg rejoined her at the edge of the stage. 

“That’s right,” Meg huffed, “and I’ve earned my title just as you have. Just because you had some extra coaching doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the limelight.”

Christine shifted uncomfortably at the mere mention of him, she did her best to keep him off of her mind these days. Her angel. She couldn’t help feeling guilty at the thought of him. When she would sing, or when she would attend supper with Raoul, or every time she looked at the newly repaired chandelier. Her hand unconsciously reached for the ring that hung on a chain around her neck, Raoul’s ring.

“Do you think that new girl will be at the masquerade?” Meg asked, bringing Christine out of her thoughts. “She seems nice.”

“I suppose so, she’s part of the Corps. I believe Madame Giry said that everyone was to be in attendance,” Christine’s eyes drifted up to Box Five where she swore she saw a curtain move.

“I swear you guys look just alike,” Meg laughed, “I had to do a double take this morning when I saw her.”

“Do we really?” Christine wracked her brain trying to recall.

“Oh yes, it’s kind of unsettling to be honest. Even maman mentioned something about it.”

“I wonder what happened to her, those bruises on her neck looked pretty nasty.” The images from this morning started to come back to Christine and she shuddered.

“Probably joined the ballet to get away from a bad man, she wouldn’t be the first.”

“Well, I hope she’s safe now.”

Engaged? Erik fell back against the wall, cursing himself for the small thud it made. The conversation he had overheard sent him reeling back quickly into the shadow of the foyer, he leapt down the stairs two at a time and didn’t stop until he was safely concealed in the crawlspace. 

_At least they seem to like Allison. _That was the only good take away from the evening. Oh how he wished he had never come to the surface. If one girl wasn’t on his mind, it seemed the other worked her way in. And now Christine, his angel, was betrothed to that… that insolent boy! It wouldn’t do. The choice was clear now, he would make an appearance at the masquerade ball, and they would rue the day they made a mockery of him.__

__He slowed his pace as the red of his vision faded and things seemed clearer in his mind. This was what Allison was talking about, the sudden violent rage. His heart rate slowed as he slumped against the wall. He let out a sigh of pure agony._ _

__Very well, if it’s a man she wants, it’s a man she’ll get._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__“Once more mademoiselle, if you please! From the top!” Mme. Giry’s voice rang out across the dance studio. Allison hurried back into position and went through the rigorous routine for the thirteenth time that afternoon. Being the experienced distance runner that she was, able to endure miles upon miles of running, she surprisingly found herself ready to collapse at any moment._ _

__On top of her private lessons with Mme. Giry, she had also started to attend rehearsals with the rest of the Corps, as well as hours of practicing down in the cellars of the opera house. That didn’t mean running had taken a backseat to ballet, she still made time to get the miles in, much to Erik’s chagrin. Though he complained, she could tell that some part of him just enjoyed teasing her about it, and he really didn’t mind at all. Still, it had become part of their daily banter. He’d give her shit for it, and she’d respond with a sarcastic remark and be on her way._ _

__The bruises on her neck had healed for the most part, and were barely visible. Which was a very good thing with the masquerade ball that night, as well as a performance the next night. Mme. Giry had given her approval, she was officially a member of the Corps de Ballet. She had no doubt that Erik had something to do with it, but she was quite excited to be invited to the ball. Perhaps she would get a chance to mingle with Christine and monsieur le Vicomte, and it would be nice to actually socialize with other humans. Not that Erik wasn’t great company, but she was going absolutely insane underground._ _

__“That’s enough for today, mademoiselle,” Mme. Giry held up her hand, signaling Allison to cease pirouetting. “You’ll need the extra time to get ready for the ball.”_ _

__As if on cue Meg Giry came waltzing in with a gown in hand._ _

__“Maman,” she held up the light blue ball gown, of which the bodice was incredibly low cut, “what do you think of this one?”_ _

__“If you like being gawped at by every man in Paris, then by all means, Meg,” Mme. Giry’s look hardened into one of disapproval, “but I would go for something a little more… modest.”_ _

__“What are you wearing, Allison?” Meg turned to face her with a genuine smile._ _

__“Me? Oh, I don’t know,” Allison shifted uncomfortably, “I suppose I haven’t given it much thought. I don’t really own any gowns that suit the occasion.”_ _

__“Oh neither do I,” Meg reassured her, “most of us just grab one from the costume department. Would you like to come pick one out?”_ _

__Allison glanced at the spot on the wall, which she knew Erik was likely hiding behind, waiting to take her back down. “I uh-“_ _

__“Go with Meg,” Mme. Giry gestured towards the door, “I promise everything will be okay.”_ _

__Allison shot her look of gratitude before turning back to Meg, “I’d love to!”_ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__Mme. Giry couldn’t deny it when she heard the whooshing sound of fabric moving behind her. He was there._ _

__“If you’ve come to strangle the poor girl again, you’ll have to wait until after the ball. She and Meg are getting ready together,” she kept her back to him, but felt his presence creeping closer._ _

__“That’s none of your concern,” his voice commanded her to face him, she had no choice but to obey._ _

__“Is it not?” She kept her resolve as her eyes met his cold yellow ones. “She is in my care as a member of the Corps de Ballet, her well-being is my concern.”_ _

__“Does she not seem well to you?”_ _

__“She didn’t a week ago.” Her jaw was set, determined not to break under his scrutiny. “You assured me that you were taking care of her.”_ _

__“It was a momentary lapse of judgment,” Erik scoffed._ _

__“That momentary lapse and judgment could’ve killed the poor girl.”_ _

__“I assure you, madame, she’s quite capable of taking care of herself.”_ _

__“I should’ve put an end to this madness with Christine,” she closed her eyes and shook her head._ _

__“Do not speak of Christine,” he hissed._ _

__“I should’ve never allowed it, she was so young and so vulnerable, and now you’ve captured another in your trap.”_ _

__“It’s not at all like that,” Erik was seething, “Allison is not Christine.”_ _

__“No,” Mme. Giry said, realization dawning on her, “I suppose she is not.”_ _

__She studied him then, noticing the slight tremor in his hands, the dilation of his yellow eyes, the desperate heaving of his chest, he was an emotional wreck and she had a sneaking suspicion that this new woman was the cause._ _

__“You know nothing,” he spat, turning away from the ballet mistress._ _

__“I know enough, you’ve begun to feel something for the woman.”_ _

__Erik’s jaw clenched._ _

__“What is she to you, Erik? Your angel? Does she sing for you? Lord knows it has to be something.”_ _

__“She treats me like a human!” He shouted, suddenly upon her in a rage, stunning her into shocked silence. “Not a freak, not an angel, but a man. So her companionship has become rather… important to me.”_ _

__“I see,” she pressed her lips into a thin line, “and Christine?”_ _

__“What of it?”_ _

__“Is she still the object of your desires?”_ _

__Erik let out the breath he had been holding and strode over towards the secret passageway, “good day, Antoinette.”_ _

__And he was gone._ _

__Madame Giry stood there dumbfounded, even more uncertain than she had been before their encounter. It seemed as though she was on the verge of failing to protect not one, but now two women from his grasp, and she found herself wishing she had never hid him away beneath the opera house all those years ago._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__

__Allison twirled around in front of the costume room mirror. Her costume was simple, a flowy red and black dress that stopped mid-thigh, paired with a red and black domino mask. Her hair let down to cascade down her back in long, amber waves._ _

__“I think we have a winner,” Meg smiled as she approached, handing her a pair of black pointe shoes. “Are you ready for your first performance?”_ _

__“I’m a little nervous, to be honest,” Allison replied, graciously accepting them. For a while there she worried she’d have to wear the pink pointe shoes that Erik gave her, and that would’ve been a bold look for sure._ _

__“Don’t be,” Meg looked at her reassuringly, “you’ve gotten really good, and once the champagne starts flowing it’ll just be a lot of drunk patrons looking to take one of the ballet girls as a mistress.”_ _

__“Wow, that’s,” Allison sighed nervously, “reassuring?”_ _

__“Just stick with Christine, Raoul, and I, everything will be fine.”_ _

__“Okay,” Allison nodded, “okay, I think I will. Thank you, Meg.”_ _

__“You’re welcome, now, what do you think of mine?”_ _

__Meg pranced around in a circle once she put the finishing touches on her outfit, which was a dress similar in style to Allison’s, but the color was a much softer shade of blue._ _

__“Oh Meg, it’s gorgeous. You’ll be the talk of the ball.” Allison beamed. “Isn’t it odd that we’re stealing these outfits from the costume department, when we’re about to perform at an Opera House sanctioned event?”_ _

__Before Meg could respond the opening and closing of a door interrupted them, and they both turned to see Christine dressed in her blue and pink star princess outfit, mask in hand._ _

__“Sorry to interrupt,” she said shyly, “but you’ve simply got to come see the managers.”_ _

__Without a word, the three of them tiptoed out into the dimly lit corridor. Two masked figures were slowly stalking towards each other, both with their backs facing the other. It took everything in the girls’ power to stifle their giggles as the figures cried out in fright once they inevitably ran into each other. Allison had never seen the two men look so ridiculous in her life, as they were usually all business. This was going to be a fun night, indeed._ _

__The tapping of a cane on the marble floor brought them out of their glee, and the look of disapproval on Madame Giry’s face let them know that they were late to their places._ _


	8. On a Night Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MASQUERAAAAAAAAAAAADE! PAPER FACES ON PARADE! Always a fun time, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to Bob Dylan.

The performance had been adequate, from Erik’s view anyway. He had never really concerned himself with the ballet, Antoinette had been more than capable of holding the Corps to a high standard. He did, however, find himself eagerly watching tonight. He didn’t know the first thing about dancing, other than the occasional bits of information he heard from the ballet rats when he would be skulking about. He did know that other than Meg, who had truly earned the title of Prima Ballerina, Allison had outshone everyone. Her lines were graceful, her face fully conveyed her passion, and the hours and hours of practice she had put in were evident.

His plan had been to interrupt the party in the middle of the performance, to make his presence known after months of silence, to strike fear into the hearts of everyone and demand his opera be performed according to his wishes. But he found he could not tear his eyes away, and his opportunity for a big, dramatic entrance had come and gone. The lights went up, the cast had dispersed, and the patrons had started mingling and drinking champagne. I suppose I could stay for a bit. He thought to himself. I am dressed for the occasion after all.

His fiery red outfit and half skull mask was anything but subtle, but that was the beauty of a masquerade, no one would know it was him. He scanned the room from his vantage point at the top of the steps, searching until his eyes found her. His angel had never looked more radiant, but he felt his heart harden when she saw the Vicomte take her hand in his and lead her out onto the dance floor. He descended the steps quickly, and no one even gave him a second look. He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and made his way to the two women giggling on the other side of the dance floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison couldn’t believe how much fun she was having, for being the nineteenth century this was quite the party. The performance had gone off flawlessly, and the festivities had been even more amusing.

Raoul had been such a gentleman, introducing the three ladies to a number of other opera patrons. The Comte and Comtess Girard, of whom Allison found rather amusing due to the Comte’s outrageously long mustache that was curled on the ends. The Baron Beauchamp, who drolled on and on about the growing tension between France and Prussia. And the Montfort’s who were as uninteresting as they were opulently dressed.

“Raoul,” a male voice rang out over the crowd. Allison looked up to see a young man, immaculately dressed in a deep purple high button coat with a black waistcoat partially visible underneath. His dark curls were neat and tidy, save for one errant one that spilled over his mask. While the mask hid the top half of his face, there was no denying his youth and beauty. Green eyes shone from behind it, and seemed to match his perfect smile.

“Henri!” Raoul beckoned him over and shook his head firmly. “Ladies, this is an old friend of mine, Henri Guillot. Henri this is Meg Giry and Allison Devereaux of the Corps de Ballet, and this is-“

Christine shot him a look as he gesture towards her.

“Well,” Raoul’s tone changed to one of disappointment, “this is an even older friend, Christine Daaé.”

“A pleasure,” a knowing smile grew across his face as he glanced between Raoul and Christine as the tension grew between them. 

“Henri is the Comte of Saint-Cloud, and the Palais Garnier’s newest Patron” Raoul cleared his throat, he seemed distracted, and it obviously had something to do with Christine.

“A pleasure to meet you, monsieur,” Meg responded, offering her hand. Henri’s grin oozed charm as he placed his lips on the back of it, earning a blush from the Prima Ballerina. He turned to face Allison, the same devilish grin plastered across his face.

“Er-“ Allison was unsure of what to do in this scenario, she was unaccustomed to meeting French nobility apart from Raoul. “Indeed a pleasure.”

“Christine, a dance?” Raoul asked, taking Christine’s hand before she could respond. And just like that Meg and Allison were left in the company of an incredibly striking gentleman with no means of escape.

“I don’t know who they think they’re fooling,” Henri turned to face the dance floor as the couple waltzed of, “everyone can tell they’re engaged.”

Allison’s jaw dropped, but Meg’s knowing look confirmed the accusation.

“I understand why she would want to keep it a secret, look at the poor guy try to dance,” he teased, just as Raoul stepped on Christine’s foot.

Meg and Allison couldn’t stifle their laughter as Raoul apologized profusely, but the look of pure joy on Christine’s face suggested that all was forgiven.

“Ahem.”

All three heads shot up as the skull-masked figure in red strode up upon the group.

Allison opened her mouth to speak, but the look Erik gave her caused her to shut it immediately. She knew he wanted to remain anonymous.

“I don’t think there will be any doubt who the best costume award goes to this evening,” Henri’s voice cut in.

“You flatter me, monsieur,” Erik’s jaw clenched as he handed Allison the spare glass of champagne.

“Ah, four’s a crowd, is it?” Henri took a bow, offering his arm to Meg, who accepted a little too eagerly.

“Now this is a bold look,” Allison smirked, taking a sip from her glass.

“Yes, well someone had to show everyone how it’s done, mademoiselle,” his tone was playful, but his eyes were cold, following Henri and Meg as they moved through the crowd.

“Is that the only reason you decided to make an appearance?”

“That, and to give you this,” he reached into his coat and pulled out a single red rose with a black ribbon tied to it.

“Flatterer,” she teased.

“You were sublime, mademoiselle.”

“Thank you, Erik.”

“I shall be warning Antoinette about that one,” he nodded towards Henri Guillot, who was dancing cheek to cheek with Meg. “I don’t like the way he looks at either of you.”

“Oh Henri’s harmless, I’m sure. Raoul can vouch for him.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Vicomte.

“I see you’ve gotten close with them, then,” his voice was ice.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Indeed,” he finished his champagne in one long swig.

“Look, I know that may be salt in a wound, but Raoul is a good guy. And so are you, now don’t let that ruin the evening. Come on,” she held her hand out, “dance with me.”

“I hardly think that’s wi-,” before he could finish she grabbed his hands and pulled him out on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik’s natural sense of rhythm was his one saving grace. Until now no one had ever wanted to dance with him, and the shock of it all, paired with the foreign sensation of having another human being consciously and willingly in his arms was almost too much.

Allison had been forgiving of his stiff arms, and rigid posture, and once she had smiled at him he found he didn’t care a toss for how ridiculous he might’ve looked. Taking the lead from her, he twirled her around and around as she tossed her head back, which threw her off slightly off balance and caused them to stumble into another couple nearby. But they were soon forgotten as he pulled her to him, her body flush against his as he led her in a waltz across the foyer.

Her laughter echoed in his mind as they danced hand in hand, arm in arm up and down the floor, and his bitterness slowly started to melt away. It was just nice getting to be this close to another human without having them recoil in horror.

Before they knew it three songs had come and gone, and on the ending note of the final song Erik dipped her low, one hand caressing the solid muscles lining her spine, while the other held onto her waist for dear life.

The room was silent except for the sounds of their heavy breathing, and after a moment it had become noticeable. Erik looked up to see a crowd of faces looking in their direction all looking aghast. He pulled Allison into a standing position as his eyes darted around the room, planning his escape. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden eruption of applause and cheers, as the crowd began closing in around them. Hundreds of smiling faces inched closer as gentlemen with outstretched hands grasped for Erik’s, and ladies squealed with delight as Allison curtsied. Erik took a deep bow, but when he straightened up his eyes met a pair of brown eyes. Christine Daaé was standing on the other side of the room, her face as white as a sheet, before her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, unconscious. The scene had distracted the crowd long enough for Erik to seize Allison’s hand, and together they took off running down the hallway.

All of the entrances to his secret passageways had been blocked by a sea of people in all directions. He had had no choice but to use one of the main hallways, which was surprisingly uninhabited at this time. On their way they passed a very confused Gilles André, and Erik, thinking quickly managed to slip his finished score along with a less than friendly note into his coattail pocket.

“This way,” Allison took off down the dark hallway, setting a blistering pace. Despite his long legs, he found she was quite difficult to keep up with. How long is this hallway anyway? 

When he finally caught up to her she had slowed to a halt in front of a tall pair of dark oak doors, he put his hands on his knees and tried to focus on catching his breath, but she hurriedly pulled him inside, as the voices of some stray partygoers were drawing nearer.

The two of them stood in silence, hoping the passersby wouldn’t linger too long. And linger they didn’t, as the distant echoes of the band striking up again pulled them back to the ruckus. That’s when he remembered, Christine. 

His thoughts were interrupted as his companion began to laugh uncontrollably. He shot her a confused look before the weight of everything hit him full force and he found he couldn’t hold back his own laughter.

The two of them went on until sound would no longer come out, and their bellies ached.

“What a rush, huh?” She managed to choke out.

“It was certainly something.”

He managed to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to balance out the oxygen deprivation. He let out a long sigh as he felt his heart rate start to return to normal.

“Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“Oh it’s all rhythm and steps now, isn’t it?” He looked down at his shoes, suddenly shy.

“Well, you know what they say? The best things, happen while you’re dancing, things that you would not do at home, come naturally out on the floor.” 

“Is this another one of your future references?” He retorted.

She nodded enthusiastically before leaving him to find a gas lamp to survey their surroundings. She sang softly to herself as she made her way along the perimeter of the room, which appeared to have been used by the orchestra for practice, as cases and sheet music were strewn about. 

“That’s lovely,” he found himself saying, cursing himself for not being able to catch it in time.

“Hmm?”

“Er- you, that is, I mean, your singing is lovely.” _Oh real articulate, Erik. ___

__“Ah, thank you.” The slightest hint of a blush crept up her neck. “But I’m no angel.”_ _

__“No,” he straightened, clearing his throat, “no you’re not, but still lovely all the same.”_ _

__“I’ll take it,” she said with a curtsy before turning and continuing her tour. Along the way she passed the odd instrument here and there, but she found herself drawn to a beautiful classical guitar, perched elegantly upon its stand. She let her fingers graze the neck before dropping them quickly to her side, it had been so long since she’d played. Her heart began to ache for home and for the regular family gatherings where her uncles would chant and chant for her to play until she finally gave in._ _

__The moment was not lost on Erik, all too familiar with the feeling, he could tell when music beckoned. Without a second thought he crossed the room and scooped up the instrument and held it out to her._ _

__“Oh I couldn’t,” she hesitated, “not in front of a musical genius like you, I shan’t.”_ _

__“I insist, mademoiselle,” he bowed humbly, “I won’t even watch, I shall avert my eyes.”_ _

__He draped his hand over his eyes with all of the theatrics of an Opera House diva, and Allison couldn’t help but laugh some more before snatching the instrument from his grasp. She grabbed a stray foot stand that had been tossed aside and began checking the tuning._ _

__“What are you doing?” She cocked an eyebrow as she spied him looking at her. “I thought you weren’t going to look.”_ _

__“Surely you know a joke when you hear one.”_ _

__“I’m wearing a skirt, Erik,” she gestured towards her outfit and then down towards the foot stand._ _

__“You could just not use the foot stand.”_ _

__“Well, now you’re just being silly. That would be poor form.”_ _

__Erik sighed, throwing his hands up in concession._ _

__“Very well, I can stand off to the side, then,” he took one giant step to the right and smirked. “How’s this?”_ _

__“Better, I suppose,” she said through gritted teeth._ _

__She flexed her fingers, positioning them along rosewood fret board. Her right hand followed suit as she made sure to arch it so that it wouldn’t rest on the wood below the sound hole. UIL judges everywhere would be proud. That is, they would’ve been proud until they would’ve heard her stumble over the first few measures of Gaspar Sanz’ Canarios, but it didn’t take her muscles long to remember, and the notes began to cascade effortlessly from her fingertips. When the song finally reached its end, and the final note was played, her eyes looked up to meet Erik’s. To her surprise he was smiling, and he began to clap slowly._ _

__“Brava, Bravissima mademoiselle.”_ _

__“It’s been a while, so it’s a little rough,” she blushed._ _

__“Encore! Another!”_ _

__“Any requests?”_ _

__Erik reached up to stroke his chin, pretending to be deep in thought._ _

__“How about something new, something you?”_ _

__“I hate you,” she deadpanned._ _

__“No you don’t,” he smirked. “Get on with it.”_ _

__“Fine, it’ll be new to you, but in my time era it’s actually decades old.”_ _

__“Dealer’s choice,” he let his smile reach his eyes, and for a moment Allison could actually feel the warmth there._ _

__“I’m not much of a singer.” _Luckily Bob Dylan isn't either. _____

____“You’ll do fine.”_ _ _ _

____She took a deep breath and began to pick the opening chords._ _ _ _

____‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood  
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud  
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form  
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”_ _ _ _

____As she played on her heart rate began to even out and her nerves began to fade. She couldn’t see Erik, but she didn’t have to see him to know that her words would hit home. If he could even speak English, that is._ _ _ _

____And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured  
I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word  
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm  
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”_ _ _ _

____Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved  
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved  
Trying to imagine a place where it’s always safe and warm  
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”_ _ _ _

____I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail  
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail  
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn  
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”_ _ _ _

______Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there  
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair  
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns  
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm”_ _

____“Anyway, you get it,” Allison ceased playing. “If you speak English, that is. If not, then it was just noise.”_ _ _ _

____Erik nodded, silent tears had formed but hadn’t quite fallen._ _ _ _

____“Who was the poor guy that wrote that?”_ _ _ _

____“Bob Dylan,” she chuckled. “And don’t worry, there’s more. He’s kind of the king of that sort of thing.”_ _ _ _

____“Kindred spirits.”_ _ _ _

____“Kindred spirits, indeed,” she leaned the guitar back onto it’s perch and gathered herself. Very rarely did she ever seriously sing in front of anyone who wasn't family, and if you had told her about this months ago she would’ve been mortified. But here in this moment, everything felt alright, and she was content._ _ _ _

____Without a word, Erik leapt up and strode across the room to poke his head out into the hallway._ _ _ _

____“I think the party’s dying down, things are much quieter,” he pulled his head back in to find Allison struggling to hold back her laughter, “and what, pray tell, is so funny?”_ _ _ _

____“It’s just that, you’re trying to be stealthy, and you’re literally wearing the loudest outfit I’ve ever seen.”_ _ _ _

____“Some people are just so uncultured,” Erik rolled his eyes before stepping through the doors._ _ _ _

____“Where are you going?” Allison got to her feet, walking hesitantly to the doors before Erik’s masked face poked back through and he was wearing the smuggest grin she’d ever seen._ _ _ _

____“Fancy going on an adventure?”_ _ _ _


	9. February Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the garbage fire.

The northern breeze was especially brisk tonight, or so she gathered, this was the first time she’d actually been outside in this century. But given her vantage point, and from what she remembered when she had mapped out the route all those months ago, it had to be a northern breeze. Soft powder dusted the rooftop, the white flakes whipped around her ankles, and from where she was situated at the very edge, all of Paris lay before her eyes.

Allison couldn’t quite hold back the shiver that ran up her spine as she looked out at the vast sea of buildings and streets that went on and on below her. She’d heard talk around the Opera House that the masquerade was a New Year’s celebration, and she’d long since lost track of the time, but she figured midnight would be drawing near. Knowing this only seemed to make her fidget more, though she didn’t know why.

A sudden warmth washed over her, and she turned back to see Erik draping his cloak around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said as she buried herself deeper in it. It still held his body heat, along with the faint hint of sandalwood and candle smoke, she sighed contentedly and took another step closer to the edge.

“You are hardly dressed for the season,” Erik chuckled softly, standing beside her.

“Cut me some slack, it was August when I got here,” she nudged him playfully in the ribs with her elbow, “Erik this is breathtaking.”

“This is my other haven,” he sighed, “I’m either up here among the angels, or down below with my demons.”

“I seem to recall you spent a considerable amount of time on earth tonight with us mere humans.”

“Well, I dabble,” He raised an eyebrow, but Allison could see the slightly up turned corners of his mouth. “You never told me you could play.”

“It seemed irrelevant, seeing as I was in the presence of such genius, I never thought I’d hold your attention,” she whipped her head around fast to face him, “and YOU never told me you could dance.”

“Oh this again,” he rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle off of the side, he motioned for her to do the same. “I didn’t think I could, but then you were there, and the music was loud, and it honestly just happened. I find myself able to do many things with you that I never thought I could.”

The distant sound of a clock chiming and fireworks exploding brought them back to reality, and suddenly Allison’s heart was in her throat. She had no idea how long the “New Year’s kiss” thing had been a tradition, but given the fact that she could see Erik visibly stiffen, she guessed it went back further than 1881.

Erik quickly got to his feet.

“Well, mademoiselle, it’s getting late,” his eyes looked up to meet hers, uncertain, “we should head back, you’ve got a long day of rehearsals tomorrow and I-“

“Erik?” She stepped closer, taking his hand in hers. “May I?”

He froze, his brows knit together in confusion and his eyes searching hers for some sort of clarification.

“Is that okay?”

His chest heaved as she closed the gap between them, her breath was steady, and Erik used it to slow his, releasing the tension in his shoulders, he nodded slowly.

She raised herself up on her tiptoes slowly, careful to be deliberate in her movements, knowing how quickly he could turn on a dime when provoked. _Why does he have to be so tall?_ To her surprise his hand reached up to caress her cheek, his eyes darkening, and almost immediately his lips crashed into hers. Feverishly at first, but then turning gentle, yet urgent.

She couldn’t hold back a small gasp as he grabbed her by the waist to pull her closer, and Allison felt her knees begin to wobble. _He shouldn’t be this good, I shouldn’t be enjoying it this much._

As if sensing her unease he wrapped both of his arms around her tightly, lifting her off the ground, spinning them around, all the while his lips never left hers. When she was finally returned to the ground, and their lips were finally apart, she found herself only wanting more, but gauging from his frown, she could sense he did not feel the same.

“Come, let’s go,” he turned his back to her and hastily made for the door that led back down to the Opera House, wrenching it open, “it’s late.”

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Once inside and out of the cold, Erik took off at a blistering pace, and without thinking he grasped her tightly by the wrist and began to pull her behind him.

“Erik.”

Nothing. He didn’t turn around, he didn’t even waver as they made their way down the fly tower.

“Erik!”

She couldn’t help the panic rising in her throat, her wrists were a sensitive area, and certain stimuli could bring up painful memories involuntarily. And his tight grasp certainly wasn’t helping matters.

“Erik, please! Stop!” She cried. Suddenly remembering what Thomas had taught her about self-defense, and she yanked her wrist in the direction of his thumb, freeing it easily. It worked every time.

He spun on his heel and suddenly he was upon her, but she held her ground once more.

“What? What could be so important that you see fit to alert the entire Opera House to our presence?” His wild eyes quickly softened at the sight of her, her eyes wide with fear, her white knuckles wrapped tightly around her wrist. He cursed himself for forgetting, for hurting her.

“What is wrong with you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “We were having the most pleasant evening, and then once again you turn sour on me. We’ve talked about this.”

“I-“ He closed his eyes wringing his hands, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Let’s start with the rooftop, what the fuck was that?” She advanced, jaw clenched. “If it wasn’t okay, all you had to do was say so.”

He sighed heavily, running a gloved hand through his hair. “It was okay, mademoiselle, more than okay, even. A little too much more than okay.”

“Personally, I thought everything was perfect.”

It was hard to tell, but she thought she could see a hint of red begin to creep up his neck.

“It was, that is to say it was almost perfect.”

“Oh,” she glanced down, the disappointment evident in her voice.

“Oh god no,” he reached out, but quickly withdrew his hand when he realized he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to comfort someone. “It’s all my fault, you were perfect mademoiselle. It’s just, that was… my first kiss.”

He winced immediately, expecting her to laugh or ridicule him, but there was nothing, only silence. He opened his eyes to study her face to gauge her reaction, but he found nothing but acceptance in her soft smile.

“Well, I certainly couldn’t tell,” she smirked, and it was official, Erik’s entire neck and face from what she could tell was a nice shade of scarlet.

“Thank you, mademoiselle, you are too kind,” he shifted nervously.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a realization.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” his hands were visibly shaking, “I just had imagined it taking place with someone else.”

“Christine,” she whispered, “and you’re disappointed.”

“I-“ he hesitated, “I’m disappointed with myself.”

“For kissing me instead?”

“No, not in the slightest, in fact, it’s been what I’ve wanted for a little while now,” he took a step closer, “I was just disappointed that she crossed my mind at all.”

“Well,” she closed the gap, “may I make a suggestion?”

“Hmm?” Her proximity to him becoming all too distracting to form actual words.

She stood up on her tiptoes, motioning for him to bend down the rest of the way, when he obliged she whispered, “next time talk to me about it.”

She planted a soft kiss on his unmasked cheek, and continued on her way down the stairs leaving Erik baffled, with his gloved fingers lingering over the place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following days weren’t quite the whirlwind romance anyone would’ve expected after a kiss on a rooftop after months and months of sexual tension. In fact, quite the opposite. Things had been a little awkward after Erik walked her down to his home after the night of the masquerade ball, seeing as he had no idea what to do after everything. He was conflicted over wanting to kiss Allison again, maybe even more, but then guilt crept into his mind as he began to think of his angel.

So naturally, he chose the best course of action and avoided his house guest entirely. At this point in their relationship, he was quite aware of her schedule, and the woman sure liked her routine. He was acutely aware of the ungodly hour she chose to run along the cavern outside his home. This would allow him an hour or two of uninterrupted composing, and if it was a Sunday he was guaranteed at least three hours. After running she would freshen up and get ready for rehearsals, this would free up his entire afternoon to… to… compose some more? No, he often found himself lingering in Box Five anxious to leave notes and critiques for management and the cast. Or at least that’s what he told himself, more often than not he would find himself gazing out onto the stage, letting his eyes linger over one dancer in particular.

She had made considerable improvement since that first lesson with Antoinette, and she deserved all of the credit. Sure, Giry had provided instruction, but Allison’s hours and hours of practice in her room long after rehearsals had ceased brought her into the running to give little Meg Giry a run for her money.

_Her room?_ He shook his head, perhaps he was getting a little too used to this semblance of domesticity he had achieved. How unbecoming of a ghost. But just then she turned her head so that it seemed as if she was looking right at him, and what felt like an electric current shot through his body. It was nonsense, of course, there’s no way she had seen him. She didn’t even know that this was HIS box.

A heavenly voice drifted up to him, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he didn’t need to look down to know that Christine had taken the stage. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting.

But nothing, her voice was beautiful, angelic, perfect, but the feeling just wasn’t there. Not the one he was used to feeling when she sang. He sat back, perplexed.

Once again he was pulled out of his thoughts, this time by a knock at the door. He cracked the door an inch, and sighed when he saw who it was.

“What do you want, Daroga?” He pushed the door the rest of the way open, allowing the man to enter.

“Is it frowned upon to visit an old friend?” Nadir grinned, knowing full well how Erik felt about people dropping in unannounced.

“I don’t have friends,” Erik turned to return to his seat. His little pout didn’t go unnoticed by Nadir, but he knew there were limits to how much teasing Erik could take.

Choosing to ignore his snide remarks, Nadir chose to sit in the seat next to Erik, looking down at the cast putting in one of their final rehearsals before debuting _Faust_ later that week.

“She’s quite lovely,” Nadir broke the silence. “You really should be pround, your instruction has done wonders.”

Erik remained silent, only giving the slightest hint of a nod, as he watched Allison throw herself into a series of fouettes and pirouettes. All of the stiffness from her previously broken leg had dissipated, and she truly looked as though she belonged up there.

“I take it there’s something else on your mind,” Nadir followed Erik’s gaze, “or rather, someone?”

“Do shut up, will you, Daroga?”

Nadir chuckled to himself, for all of Erik’s mystery, sometimes he was the easiest person in the world to see through.

“What’s changed?”

Erik remained silent, his shoulders tensing slightly.

“Erik, what happened?” Concern creeping into his voice, “I have yet to make anyone aware of your presence here, I think you can trust me with this.”

“She kissed me,” Erik whispered.

“She what now?” Nadir’s eyes grew wide.

“Well, I guess I kissed her, but it was her idea.”

“Who? Allison?”

“Do keep up, Daroga. Who else?”

“Oh Erik, that’s…” Nadir couldn’t believe it, “that’s wonderful.”

“Daroga, have you ever worked so hard for something for so long, only to find it might not be what you wanted after all? And that you feel yourself being increasingly pulled in a different direction?”

Nadir’s brow furrowed, “I suppose so.”

“What did you do?”

Nadir sighed, “I’ve learned over time, Erik, not to fight those changes.”

And with that he got up and made for the door.

“Daroga.”

Nadir stopped, glancing over at Erik who gave him a weary smile.

“Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison couldn’t quite put her finger on any specific instance, but if she didn’t know any better she’d say that Erik was avoiding her. Yet, she could feel his presence everywhere. He had unlimited access to practically everywhere in the Opera House, and was insanely talented at stealth, so for all she knew she was never actually alone. A few months ago this fact would have unnerved her to no end, but she found she didn’t mind now. In fact she could feel his presence in the auditorium even now as rehearsals wrapped up for the day. She smiled to herself as she wondered where he was hiding, under her feet perhaps, looking up. Her cheeks reddened as she thought of his view should he be directly below her. No, he was a gentleman, he wouldn’t be there.

Their kiss replayed in her mind every night, and she really couldn’t find one thing wrong with it. It was perfect. For his first time, he certainly knew what he was doing. Perhaps it had been sudden release of the passion he’d been keeping inside of him all this time.

“Girls!” Mme. Giry’s rang out over the chatter from the other ballerinas as she tapped her cane hard on the stage floor. At once all eyes were on her and not a word was uttered as they awaited her instruction.

“As you know, our first show is at the end of the week. I expect everyone to be in top form, I am not afraid of moving some of you around, and replacing those that inert with those that are working hard.” She paused as the girls began looking around, wondering who she could possibly be talking about. “That being said, you may disperse, but no staying out late or partaking in any unsavory activities. I shall know if you do.”

She dismissed them, and in true ballet rat fashion, they all hung around to gossip.

“It’s true,” Jammes spoke up as they all sat down to stretch out, “she always knows.”

“I bet the Opera Ghost spies on us and reports to her,” Celeste chimed in.

“What if she IS the Opera Ghost?” Marie joined.

“Don’t be silly,” Meg snapped, “you were all there when that sand bag fell on Carlotta. She was all the way on the other side of the stage.”

They all nodded in agreement as they murmured quietly to themselves.

“Christine!” A voice rang out from the back of the theatre, and it wasn’t long until Raoul de Chagny emerged from the shadows as he approached the stage with a certain Henri Guillot in tow.

All of the girls squealed as Christine ran up to greet him, Raoul spinning her around as they embraced. Allison and Henri made eye contact briefly before she turned her head away quickly. He was as handsome as ever, and by the grin on he always seemed to wear, he knew it.

Meg ran over to greet them, blushing a deep red as Henri kissed the back of her hand, but his eyes were lingering over someone else.

Much to Allison’s relief, the excitement died down quickly, and it wasn’t long until she found herself alone in the auditorium. She decided to take the opportunity to practice. It was nice to be on the stage where her actual cues would be, it was always good to practice on the terrain you would be racing on, she supposed dancing probably wasn’t much different.

Movement in one of the boxes caused her to look up, and she could’ve sworn she saw a pair of yellow eyes looking right at her.

She couldn’t help but smile, of course he was there. He’d never admit that she’d spotted him, but she knew, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear Christine sing, but it did give her butterflies to know that he was now watching her.

As she wrapped up her impromptu practice session she was pulled from her thoughts, as she heard the sound of clapping hands. She shot a glance up to the box, but nothing. She looked down just in time to see Henri striding down the aisle towards her, wearing his same dazzling smile.

“Brava mademoiselle,” His gray eyes twinkling in the stage lights. “Truly awe-inspiring.”

Her face grew hot.

“I-I” She mentally cursed herself for seeming so inarticulate. “I thought I was alone monsieur.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist, after all I couldn’t seem to hold your attention earlier, I thought I would try again.”

“I didn’t know it was my attention you sought.”

He climbed up on stage and motioned for her to sit down on the edge with him.

“Why else would I be here?”

“Meg? Because you’re a patron? To support your friend during his engagement?”

His laughter echoed throughout the auditorium, and Allison suddenly felt nervous. It wasn’t charming, it was disconcerting, and she suddenly felt the urge to run.

“I could never support his engagement to that singer,” he sneered.

“Why not?” Her eyes narrowed, “he certainly seems happy.”

“It is unbecoming of a noble to marry so far beneath him.” He began to inch towards her, a hungry look in his eye. “Now if she were to be his mistress, that would be fine, but-“

“Why would that be fine?”

“Is that not what women in your profession, of the theatre, strive for? To warm the beds of their patrons?” His grin lacking all of the charm it held earlier.

His face was dangerously close to hers, and Allison had half a mind to reach out and slap him, but she restrained herself. No sense provoking him any further. She knew men like him, they were capable of a lot when provoked.

“I can’t speak for everyone, monsieur, but that is not what Christine strives for. Nor Meg, or I for that matter, now if you’ll excuse me I must go.”

His arm shot up, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back down, and before she knew it his lips came crashing down onto hers.

Almost instantly a backdrop suddenly came crashing down to the stage, causing him to jump away from her. Allison seized the opportunity to take off down the aisle as Henri gazed up at the flies.

She stumbled out into the foyer, which was surprisingly abandoned. Panic flooded her senses as a gloved hand covered her mouth, and she was pulled back into one of the statues at the top of the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik was hardly surprised that Allison chose to stay behind and practice some more. The woman was non-stop, a trait which he admired deeply.

He froze as she looked up, and for a second he swore that she had seen him, but quickly waved the idea from his mind as she resumed dancing. He would have to be more careful not to slip up in the future. As she went gracefully through the motions he let his mind wonder, not for the first time of that night. How she’d felt in his arms, how her lips felt on his. He’d been waiting his whole life for something like that to happen to him, for someone to welcome his touch without flinching or recoiling in horror.

And then he’d gone and made a mess of things as he realized that she wasn’t Christine. But once again she was there, calling him out. Showing concern and compassion. Surely she was the true angel, for no one could be so forgiving of a monster like him.

The sound of clapping pulled him from his thoughts, and his jaw clenched as he spied the man from the Masquerade ball approaching the stage. The one with the hungry eyes. Erik quickly fled the box, keeping to the shadows as he made for the fly tower above the stage.

Luckily there didn’t seem to be a soul in the building, the lack of obstacles causing him to reach his destination in record time, he quickly climbed up onto the scaffolding, his eyes scanning for the rope that would send the backdrop crashing down onto the stage. He glanced down quickly, spying the two of them sitting on the stage, Henri laughing and inching his way closer to her, as she became more visibly uncomfortable with each passing second. His fists clenched and unclenched as he watched him grab her by the wrist pulling her down, and assaulting her with his lips.

Without a second thought he made quick work of the rope, the stagehands were getting sloppy in their knot-work so it seemed, much to Erik’s relief. And he was out of sight before it even hit the stage.

He didn’t have time to look behind him, if he knew Allison, he knew that she would seize the opportunity to get out of there. And when she did he would be there to escort her to safety.

Almost as soon as he positioned himself inside the statue that led to one of his secret passageways, Allison came sprinting out.

He could hear a second set of footsteps approaching in the distance and knew he would need to act quickly. He reached out quickly, making sure his hand was placed over her mouth, as he snaked his other one around her waist and pulled her back into him.

She struggled for a moment, but she quickly realized what had happened and let herself relax, leaning her head back against his chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“Allison?” His moment of bliss was cut short suddenly as Henri appeared. He could feel her tense against him. He quietly whirled her around so she was facing him, holding a finger up to his lips. She blinked up at him, mouthing the words “thank you”.

He stepped back, revealing the passage that the statue had been hiding, and motioned for her to follow him.

And follow she did, for the first time without a blindfold, silently for a little while until he deemed it safe enough to break the silence.

“I don’t like him,” was all he could manage to say through clenched teeth. “I don’t like the way he looks at you, or talks to you.”

She sighed heavily, “I don’t much care for him either.”

He turned to face her, realizing for the first time how shaken she must be, and cursing himself for not regarding her feelings first.

“Are-“ he cast his eyes to his feet, suddenly feeling like a right boor, “are you alright?”

Tears had started to form in her eyes, but she kept them from falling, pulling herself together quickly.

“Of course, I can handle misogynistic assholes like him with one hand behind my back,” she gave him a half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you for the help though.”

He nodded solemnly, “sometimes being a ghost has its perks.”

“You know, just this once I can’t argue with you.”

His deep chuckle echoed off of the tunnel walls, and for the first time she seemed to truly notice where she was, her golden eyes widening at the fact.

“We’re in one of the passageways that leads back to your home!”

“We are.” He said matter-of-factly.

“But I’m not blindfolded.”

“Well, this was an emergency situation,” he sighed, “besides, I think after everything we can conclude that it’s no longer needed.”

Her face lit up, and her lips started to curl into a smirk.

“Are you saying that you trust me, Erik?”

He turned on his heel and resumed walking without answering her.

“Oh come on now,” she followed, “you can admit it, I’m pretty trustworthy.”

“I merely wish you to know the way on your own, mademoiselle. I do not have the time to accompany to and from the Opera House every single time.”

At this point her fast steps had finally caught up to his long strides and they were walking side by side. His face expressionless, and hers covered in a wide grin.

“Whatever, you trust me.”

And they walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. Erik silently thanked her for her mercy, he knew they would have to discuss the kiss and feelings at some point, but at this moment he wasn’t quite ready to do so. There was still so much to figure out. He had his opera, Christine, her Vicomte, and now Henri, the newest obstacle to deal with at present, and he didn’t need to complicate matters further with his feelings for Allison. At least not yet. To be honest, he didn’t even really know what his feelings were. He enjoyed her company, loved how she challenged him, albeit at the time it was usually rather frustrating, and there was no denying her beauty. But one thing stood in the way, she had never seen what lie beneath the mask. Sure, she could’ve guessed, but that would be the real test. In time he would show her, but for now he would continue to live in their comfortable domestic bubble.


	10. If I Fell

Allison couldn’t tell you what was different about today, she simply woke up on the right side of the bed. Yes, that must have been it. While she usually didn’t have trouble getting up and around, she was actually chomping at the bit to get to running today. She threw on her running clothes quickly and started out down the hallway, pausing momentarily to check the drawing room for any sign of Erik.

Nothing. She shrugged, it wasn’t odd for Erik to disappear without a word, but secretly she had been hoping to see him before she took off, for no other reason than she simply just wanted to see him. She supposed it was rather silly, but she couldn’t help it, she was developing a little crush on the man, and there was nothing to do save lean into it.

She tossed one more glance over her shoulder at the vacant drawing room before turning the doorknob to the house, and she took off. She would be the first to admit that running along the stone pathways in the catacombs beneath the Paris Opera weren’t ideal, but it was better than not being able to run at all. She had clocked a good three quarters of a mile out and back she could run before she was faced with a fork in the path. Erik had warned her not to go wandering around the different passages, for she would certainly meet her demise, and she heeded his warnings. She’d be damned if she was gong to find herself dead in this century.

The path took her along the banks of the lake with a gradual incline. While it was runnable, it wasn’t meant for running at all. There were dips, uneven ground, the odd hole here and there, and it was slick, but she was a mountain ultra trail runner, this mere path had nothing on the steep inclines, technical downhills, and steep exposures where one misstep would mean certain death… if she had been wearing her trail shoes. But no, she was sent back in time with her road shoes, which were made for speed, and had very little grip. Each step was a testament to her leg strength, for she had to anticipate and over correct each slip and stumble.

She didn’t mind though, especially not today, because she was a runner and it was a privilege to even be able to run at all. A privilege she would never take for granted again.

The miles ticked off steadily, or so she supposed. It was all based on guess work given the effort she was putting forth and the time it took her to reach the end and turn around. All purely speculation. She supposed she was about six miles in, but she hadn’t been paying attention to the time, she was lost in thought at all that had transpired between her and Erik.

Sure, they hadn’t really addressed the elephant in the room beyond the conversation they had right after they had kissed. But they seemed to be moving towards normalcy. And the avoidance had completely ceased. If anything, it seemed as though Erik was actively creating instances to be in her presence.

She was beginning to lose count how many times she’d had to play the same David Bowie song for him simply because he wanted to listen to it for “research”.

One day he surprised her by procuring a classical guitar for her, from the Opera House no doubt. Since then he’d often ask her to play, or if she played of her own volition, he’d casually create excuses to walk past her door. It was endearing, and the thought of it made her feel lighter than air, as though she was flying.

No wait, she was actually flying.

Or falling, she was definitely falling.

It all happened so fast, she had been so lost in thought she had forgotten about the sharp turn on the way back as one approaches the banks of the lake. She had been going so fast, as it was the downhill section, and her feet flew out from under her as she scrambled to make the turn in time, hurling her over the edge.

She cried out into the darkness before feeling a sharp pain at the back of her skull, then blackness.

“It’s an outrage!” Andre shouted, throwing the stack of papers down on the desk before his tight-lipped counterpart. “First he demands a monthly salary, then he brings down the chandelier in the middle of a performance, and now this?”

Firmin brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, taking a long drag as he eyed his wired friend. Fate had brought them together as business partners, and so it seemed fate seemed to keep testing the limits of their friendship. What with this self-proclaimed “Opera Ghost” making demands as if this were his opera house. The whole affair was enough to make his belly ache with laughter.

“Have you anything to say, or are you going to sit there and nurse your drink like some nervous chorus girl?” Andre huffed.

“I think I’m quite content to be a chorus girl at the moment, my friend,” Firmin chuckled quietly to himself.

“If it’s one thing this ‘ghost’ has, it’s the audacity.” Andre sighed, conceding to pour himself a glass. “What is this, bourbon?”

“Whiskey.” His friend answered.

“Bourbon is whiskey, Richard.”

Before Firmin could quip a reply, he was interrupted by a frantic knock upon the door.

“What the devil-“ Andre was cut off as a wild-eyed Raoul De Chagny pushed through the door with a calm-demeanored Henri Guillot in tow.

“What is the meaning of this?” Raoul through down what could only be a note, and from the red writing on the inside, it could only be from their ghostly friend.

“A self-written opera? At this point in the season? It’s ridiculous!” Raoul slicked a hand through his golden mane, doing his best to keep his composure. “I won’t allow it.”

Henri remained expressionless behind him, his usual confidence evident in his cavalier grin.

“I’m afraid, Monsieur le Vicomte, we might not have a choice,” Firmin piped up at last.

“What do you mean we don’t have a choice? This is your Opera House.” Raoul began to pace frantically back and forth.

“You saw what he did to Joseph Buquet, and to the chandelier,” Firmin took a puff from his cigar, “we can’t afford another disaster.”

“And I suppose you’ve seen the specifics of his requests?” Andre chimed in.

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Christine is to play the lead.”

“Like hell she is-“ Raoul started before Henri put his hand on his arm.

“They’re right, Raoul.”

“Oh not you too! You’re supposed to be on my side,” Raoul sighed, exasperated.

“The whole affair will be a non-event if Christine does not play the lead,” Henri replied matter-of-factly.

“Frankly Henri, I don’t give a flying fuck if it’s the talk of the town or scarcely a murmur. She still hasn’t recovered from Il Muto, she keeps going on and on about seeing the fiend at the Masquerade Ball, and that’s why she fainted.”

“My friend, but the opportunity we will have,” Henri breathed. “If she sings, he will have no option but to attend.”

“Why would we even want that?” Raoul countered.

“Because, we will be prepared this time,” Henri touched his finger to his temple, “we will have every exit armed with gendarmes, he will have nowhere to flee, and thus we shall have him in our custody before curtain.”

Raoul groaned, massaging his temples.  
“You’re certain?”

“Quite.”

“Very well, I shall talk to her.”

Erik couldn’t hide his amusement as he slid down from the crawlspace that kept him hidden from view in the manager’s office.

The managers had gotten his letter with his opera, and were not happy about his demands in the slightest. They were so upset that they decided to bring the vicomte and his predatory friend, Henri into the discussion.

The vicomte had been furious at Erik’s request that Aminta be played by his beloved Christine, just as Erik had assumed he would. That is, until Henri had brought it to his attention that they should use Christine as bait to lure Erik out into the open.

It had taken all of his restraint not to laugh. _Fools, all of them. They could not catch me if I were standing ten yards away with a target on my back._

As he descended down into his realm, the idea began to grow more attractive to him, however. Perhaps he would do just that, come out into the open and show them how foolish they all were.

He knew Allison would not be overly fond of the idea of him potentially endangering himself, but he supposed she didn’t need to know. Besides, no one in the company could do Don Juan justice when put up against Christine’s Aminta.

He sighed as he thought back to the past few days with Allison, as much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to fully realize how much he had begun to care for her.

He found himself often asking her to play certain songs over and over just to see her eyes light up because he knew she loved them. And “borrowing” that guitar had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made, as she would play for him frequently whether he prompted, or of her own free will. Every once and a while she would sing along, and he would find reasons to walk past her door just so he may catch a glimpse.

She was no Christine in that department, to be sure, but she could hold a tune. What drew him to her was how comfortable she must’ve felt in his home with him, the feeling of elation was overwhelming. He was beginning to feel as though he must tell her how he felt, as though he trusted her enough with that information, and that maybe, just maybe, she reciprocated his feelings.

He could’ve skipped down the steep incline leading to the banks of the lake, but all of a sudden something seemed a bit off. He knew what time it was, and he hadn’t seen or heard Allison run by once, and he knew she NEVER took a day off.

The woman liked her routine, and she wouldn’t deviate unless something was horribly wrong. His pace began to quicken, as his eyes scanned the path in front of him for any signs that she might be nearby.

By the time his home was in sight he was practically sprinting, fighting to keep his mind from going to the worst possible place. _Perhaps she finally summoned the courage to leave, now that she knows the way, what’s stopping her?_

He shook that thought from his mind as he wrenched the front door open, _surely all that had unfolded hadn’t meant nothing to her._ The drawing room had been left undisturbed, which wasn’t a total shock, he knew that she thought of that room as his space, and seldom disturbed any of the items in there. He made for the hallway, the sense of urgency evident in his stride. He knocked heavily upon the oak door that led to the Louis-Phillippe room, straining his ears to listen for any movement inside.

Nothing.

He turned the doorknob with care, peering inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be present except for her running shoes, she even left her light box behind. Which meant that she hadn’t left him for good. The relief he felt from this information was fleeting, because honestly, where could she have gone?

_The lake._

He could feel the blood drain from his face as the realization dawned on him. She always took that one corner way too fast, it wasn’t unrealistic to think thata she might’ve landed herself in the lake. In the middle of January. In his underground domain, which was frigid on the warmest of Summer days.

Without a second thought he sprinted back out onto the banks of the black lake. It was so calm and serene, it was hard to believe it could consume the lives of anyone beneath its placid waters, but nonetheless he pressed on to the scene of the suspected crime.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the dark path was slick from the natural humidity of the corner, several uneven patches had been cause for concern, but they had proven to be no match for Allison up to this point.

He peeked out over the edge, yellow eyes no doubt standing out in contrast to the darkness. The jagged rocks, which had been appealing as part of his fortress seemed so harsh and unforgiving now.

The faint smear of something red on one of them turned his stomach as his worst fears came true, she had definitely fallen victim. He cast his eyes once more over the lake’s glassy surface. _Where are you?_

Suddenly a vibrant white patch floating on the lake’s surface came into his view, and without a second thought he threw his cloak, mask, and wig to the side and dove head first into the water.

He was right about one thing, the water was unnaturally cold, so cold in fact that his muscles began to twitch at the pure unadulterated shock of the sensation. He persevered nonetheless, his arms cutting through the dark vastness, pulling him closer and closer to the white mass.

His hands reached out, gripping what felt like… _Fabric!_ Yes, this had to be her. He pulled her back into his embrace, the solidity of her form giving him further confirmation. He held her close, trying his best to feel for a heartbeat, or anything as he waded back to the waters edge.

He fumbled as he maneuvered her lifeless body onto the jagged rocks, a distinct chill coursed through his body as he pulled himself out of the lake. He knew he was becoming mildly hypothermic. He groped in the darkness for his cloak, mask, and wig, putting all three on with shaky hands.

_If I’m hypothermic, how bad off is she?_ He assessed her situation, listening for the rhythm of her breathing. Nothing. Feeling for the sweet sensation of her pulse through her skin. Once again, nothing.

“Oh no you don’t,” he muttered to himself.

Almost as soon as he began to administer the rescue breaths, she sputtered to life, coughing up what had to be half the lake.

“There you are,” Erik breathed a sigh of relief, but all feelings of elation were short lived as she shivered violently.

He pulled her close to him, cradling her form close to his. She blinked up at him before unconsciousness pulled her under once more.

_As long as she’s breathing_ , and she was, however shallow it was. And her heart was beating faintly as he scooped her up in his arms and began the trek back to his house. He knew that all of her movements were unconsciousness, but the feeling of her face nuzzling closer into his chest sent a warmth throughout him that very nearly banished his hypothermia. His teeth were nearly chattering out of his damn head by the time his house came into view.

He had honestly never seen such a beautiful sight, the light emanating from the door he had forgotten to close serving as a beacon, beckoning to him as the sea beckons to newborn sea turtles.

The steps seemed to stretch on forever, he just knew it was imperative to keep moving forward. He was rewarded once he crossed the threshold as the warmth from the fireplace flooded his senses. While it was working its magic on him, he knew it was scarcely making a dent on his companion who had to be hovering between moderate and severe hypothermia. He deposited her onto the sofa while he began scouring his home for blankets, pillows, and the like. It wasn’t long before he came back with a bountiful harvest.

As he arranged them into a comfy assortment in front of the fireplace, he cast a weary glance towards his companion. It had been too dark to tell out in the cavern, but with the soft glow of the candles playing off of her features, there was no hiding the blue tint of her skin and the purple shade of her lips. He hadn’t the faintest idea how long she had been in that lake, but it was apparent now that there was only one course of action to be taken.

Skin to skin contact.

His heart rate began to steadily climb as he realized what he had to do. He began to chuckle in disbelief. _Of fucking course._ His hands, which were usually so adept and steady began to fumble as he began loosening his cravat. _If there is a God, I bet he’s having a good laugh right now._

He struggled and fumbled as he disrobed fully, suddenly self conscious. So used was he to the security of his cloak and waistcoat, his formal wear was as much a part of his identity as his mask. He supposed it was silly, after all, she was unconscious and likely wouldn’t see him. However, the fact that she was unconscious at the moment didn’t bring him any comfort. He had caught tiny glimpses of various parts of her devoid of clothing, but he had never seen her fully. He had kind of hoped when the time came he would’ve heard an enthusiastic “YES!” beforehand.

He shrugged. No hope for it now.

“Allison, love, I’m so sorry but I have to do this,” he crooned as he pulled her to an upright position.

She whimpered in response before falling slack against him.

_Lord help me._ He gently peeled her shirt from her skin, which was freezing to the touch, he noted. Even in her unconsciousness each muscle was pulled taut, flexed for battle so it seemed, as she always was. It was all fun and games until he got to her undergarments, he supposed he was lucky that the women of her world didn’t dress quite so intricately as the women of his. A few slips of the finger and that was it, there they were, bare before each other. He barely had time to consider this fact before instinct kicked in. One delicate shiver from her and he sprung into action.

He pulled her limp form against his, relishing in the delicious shiver it sent through him. He laid her down on the pallet of blankets he had previously arranged, assuming the position behind her, pulling her flush against him.

It was anything but the erotic fantasy he had been envisioning, more like sidling up to a cold slab of meat, but he’d be remiss to admit that the evenness of her breathing, and the soft thud of her heartbeat weren’t lulling him into a daze of pleasant exhaustion.

It wasn’t long before he succumbed to the sweet release that came with sleep.


	11. Why Can't This Be Love

Erik woke with a start, his eyes taking in his surroundings while his body adjusted to new sensations. Gone was the cold meat sack he had went to sleep holding, instead an inviting warmth pulled him in.

A deep breath revealed the faint scent of lavender and sweat, and as he lowered his chin he was shocked to find the soft caress of hair. He glanced down to see Allison nestled up against him, her head tucked safely below the hollow of his throat, and he could feel the tantalizing rhythm of her breathing as her chest rose to greet his.

His eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. Allison missing, the lake, an unforgiving cold that seeped into his bones. And now he was stuck, flesh against flesh with the very woman he had been fantasizing about for weeks. Luckily the shock of the entire situation had kept his body from betraying him. To his credit, his method seemed to have worked, the healthy pink color had returned to her lips and fingertips, and her skin was warm to the touch.

He knew he should get up, get dressed, and have food and water prepared for when she inevitably woke, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. Not yet.

This was without a doubt, the most intimate embrace he had ever found himself in (even if his partner wasn’t conscious), and he didn’t want it to end.

He was doing his best to remain a gentleman, he kept his eyes from wandering too far past her face, but he had nerve endings, hadn’t he? He couldn’t just make himself not feel sensations, and each sensation was heaven on his cursed skin. Hers was rich velvet, unbelievably smooth. The lines and striations were pathways, mapping the contours and ridges of her body. He wouldn’t describe the shape of her as traditionally feminine, gone was the softness most women adorned, and it was replaced muscles hardened by the stress and tension that accompanied distance running. A diamond being produced under pressure, both hard and beautiful. He was in awe of her.

The distinct feeling of her stirring against his chest caused him to freeze, silently cursing himself for getting too comfortable. Oh well, time to face the music.

“E-Erik?” Her soft voice sounded so timid and shy, he felt his heart melt at its sweet timbre.

“Yes, mademoiselle?” He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, not just yet, so instead he watched the flames from the fireplace dance back and forth.

“What happened?” He could feel her begin to pull away, he had to fight the urge to pull her back towards him, but he supposed it was for the best. Had it been left up to him he would’ve spent an eternity like that.

“I was actually hoping you could shed some light on that for me, mademoiselle,” he let his eyes meet hers, her expression was one of confusion, but there was no mistaking the smallest hint of a smirk that played on her lips. “Seeing as I had to fish you out of the lake.”

She groaned, turning over on her back, her hand flying up to cover her forehead, “I’m an idiot.”

“Your words, not mine,” his words were met with playful smack to the chest.

“And I suppose there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why we’re both naked and… spooning?” She cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“We were both hypothermic by the time we got back to the house, you were hovering between moderate and severe hypothermia, skin-to-skin contact is the safest way to raise the core temperature,” he shrugged, “trust me, I took no pleasure in this.”

_Real smooth, Erik._

“Oh?” She smiled up at him coyly, “not even a little bit?”

“You’re playing with fire, mademoiselle.”

“If you didn’t want me to play with fire, you shouldn’t have ignited it, monsieur.”

“Fair point.”

“Thank you, Erik,” she blinked, something unreadable evident in her eyes, “ for saving my life again.”

“As always, the pleasure is mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours had passed since they had both gotten dressed and pulled themselves away from each other, but they both couldn’t find it within themselves to leave each other alone, at least not yet.

“A hydration vest?” Erik scoffed, “what the devil is a hydration vest?”

“It’s an efficient way of carrying water, food, and whatever else you may need with you during an ultra,” Allison chuckled, taking another sip of her wine. “Let’s see you run a hundred miles with nothing but the skin on your back.”

“Mademoiselle, I wouldn’t run a hundred miles if I had a hundred hydration vests,” Erik returned her smile with all the mirth he could muster.

“That’s good, there’s only room in this house for one ultramarathoner anyway.”

“And you said the reason you slipped was because…”

“I was wearing road running shoes, excellent for running fast, they don’t have any grip, I would’ve been better off with trail running shoes on that slick rock,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “oh well, the universe brought me here with my road shoes, I shall simply have to be more careful.”

“And what differentiates these…” he began to gesture as he desperately tried to remember her words, the wine was beginning to hit him.

“Trail shoes.”

“Trail shoes,” he repeated, giving her a nod of appreciation, “from your other shoes.”

“Two words. Lug. Depth.” She shot him a sheepish grin.

“Lugs?”

“They’re like little rubber spikes on the bottom of your shoes, they’re part of the outsole, they help you grip whatever terrain your on.”

“Now you’re just making things up,” he gave her a playful nudge with his elbow.

“No, really,” she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the images until she found a shot from the Black Canyon 100K she had ran a couple of years back. “Look.”

He leaned in, his heart leapt into his throat at their sudden closeness, but he tried his best to keep his composure. Perhaps wine wasn’t the best idea.

“I see you wearing a silly vest, with some silly shoes that have silly spikes.”

“What can I say?” She shrugged, “I’m a silly girl.”

“You are many things, mademoiselle, but silly is not one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the blink of an eye _Faust_ was upon them, rehearsals were grueling as was to be expected from Mme. Giry. Christine was playing Marguerite per Erik’s request, and Carlotta was none too thrilled to be her understudy.

Allison had secured herself quite the solo as well, a just reward for all of the hard work she had been putting in. Meg was still the prima ballerina in every sense of the word, there was no getting around that, but Allison was quite pleased with the space she had carved out for herself.

She hadn’t planned it this way, but she found herself getting closer to Meg and Christine. Meg had always made friends easily, she gathered, as she was quite popular among the company. Christine, she noticed, ha found herself quite alone if she wasn’t with Meg or Raoul, and Allison found her own heart breaking as she saw her sitting by herself as the cast put in one last rehearsal before opening night.

“Christine!” She found herself shouting across the auditorium, as she frantically ran to join her.

Christine looked up, and she was met with brown eyes set in tired, red sockets, she had been crying.

“Oh Christine,” she sat down next to her, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she shook her curls, “I’m just a bit nervous is all.”

“With a voice like yours? You’ll bring the world to their feet.”

“How can I?” She snapped unexpectedly, “my voice isn’t even my own.”

“How do you mean?” Allison eyed her curiously.

“My voice, I had help from a… most unique tutor.”

“Christine, that doesn’t mean your voice isn’t your own,” she gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s quite rare that anyone becomes great on their own, it takes a village.”

“But I wasn’t on anyone’s radar until him, I just wish I had some sort of validation, that this was my path to take,” Christine’s eyes drifted briefly towards Box Five, but she didn’t let them linger too long.

“It’s you up there now, Christine, no one else. No one can take this from you, not even Carlotta,” she shot a glance towards the red haired diva who was shouting commands at her personal servants, “though we know she’d love to take it from you.”

Christine couldn’t hold back a laugh, as she threw her head back, everyone knew Carlotta was insatiable.

“Whatever control you think he has on you, I promise it isn’t real, you are here because you earned it.”

“But the managers-“

“To hell with the managers,” she scoffed, “they’re caught between a rock and a hard place, having to answer to demands from patrons and the like.”

Allison rolled her eyes once more in Carlotta’s direction and Christine did her best to stifle her giggles.

“And it seems that after everything the demand for you was greater.”

“What of the other night? At the masquerade?”

Allison cocked an eyebrow at her.

“I saw him there, my tutor, we were all wearing masks but there’s no mistaking those eyes,” Christine’s eyes started to glaze over as she stared off into the distance, as if she were trying to remember something, “I thought for sure he had come for me, but then you were there at his side.”

“Christine-“

“Does he have you in his clutches too?”

“No, Christine, we are friends.”

“Friends?” Christine looked taken aback, “he has friends?”

Allison bit back the cold reply she had been prepared to say.

“More than you’d think, yes, he’s actually not so bad once you get to know him.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Christine replied.

“If I might ask, why? Why is that hard to believe?” There was no edge in Allison’s voice, the question was genuine. “Is it because of his face?”

Christine sighed, “no, not it is not.”

“Then why?”

“He has killed before, the night the chandelier fell, he murdered Joseph Buquet.” Christine’s face went white as a sheet as she recalled that night. “I had seen him angry before, it’s even been aimed at me, but I had no idea he was capable of such an atrocity.”

Memories from the time Erik had nearly strangled her came flooding back, Allison didn’t want to believe it, but she knew Christine was telling the truth.

“Well, that is horrible, but whether that’s how it happened or not, you have nothing to fear from him, Christine,” she gave her a soft smile, “you have my word.”

“Thank you, Allison,” Christine’s face seemed rather uncertain, but she supposed it was better to trust than to worry, “I needed that.”

“You’re going to be great, Christine,” she took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, “now go out there, and knock ‘em dead!”

“Oh dear!”

“Sorry,” Allison shot her an apologetic look, “break a leg?”  
“Now you’re talking!” And with that Christine scampered off towards her dressing room, leaving Allison quite baffled at the absurdity of her reality.

Who would’ve guessed she would have had the opportunity to give one of her ancestors a pep talk? How surreal it all was, if she wasn’t mistaken she would even say they were becoming friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day flew by, rehearsals had taken up the entire morning, and she only had a handful of hours to herself before she had to be at hair and makeup. She had elected to spend them in Christine’s dressing room reading. Christine had been quite generous letting both Allison and Meg come and go as they pleased, it seemed as though she preferred to not be left alone, and Allison understood.

Christine and Meg had left together, leaving Allison by herself in the luxurious room adorned with elegant sofas and paintings alike. All of them remnants from when Carlotta had reigned as Prima Donna, no doubt. Allison stretched out on the sofa curling up with a book Erik had loaned her, _Little Women,_ she hadn’t told him but she had read the book several times already. He had chosen it because it was one of the only American novels he owned, and Allison had accepted it graciously. There was comfort within its pages, the closest thing to home she had experienced in a while to say the least.

So engulfed was she within its pages that she hardly notice _whoosh_ of smoke as the candles nearest to the full-length mirror were extinguished.

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” his deep sultry voice nearly caused her to jump out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ!” She slammed the book shut.

“Careful, mademoiselle,” she whirled around to see him leaned against the wall, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “wouldn’t want you to lose your place.”

“Erik, must you always call me _mademoiselle_? I feel like we’re past that,” she rolled her eyes as he slid onto the sofa, gently cradling her legs and draping them across his lap.

“Think of it as a term of endearment,” he removed his gloves and gently rocked his knuckles into the arch of her barefoot.

The moan that escaped her lips was utterly mortifying, but she couldn’t help herself, the man’s hands were magic.

“You’re spoiling me,” she teased, playfully swatting him on the arm.

“I think after what you put your poor feet through on a daily basis, they’re long overdue for some spoiling, wouldn’t you agree?” He lifted an eyebrow at her, pleased to see she had let her eyes slide close as she relaxed into his hands.

“By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

His adept fingers worked their way up her ankles to her calves, pressing firmly into the muscle, kneading all of the residual aches and pains away.

“A hundred miles,” he shook his head as he chuckled to himself, “these legs can run for a hundred miles.”

“Careful monsieur le fantome, for a minute there you almost sounded impressed,” it was her turn to smirk.

“Oh, because I am, mademoiselle,” his hand worked its way higher, as it caressed the contours of thighs, pressing into her quadriceps. It took everything Allison had to keep from crying out, the pain and the release were so sweet. “The hard work, the pain, the sacrifice, your dedication to your craft, I am in awe of you, Allison.”

Allison’s heart leapt into her throat as his hand began to slowly climb, this time without the confidence it had displayed earlier. This was uncharted territory for him, that she knew. Just as he was beginning to lean in towards her a sharp knock on the door caused them to jump apart.

“Christine?” Mme. Giry’s concerned voice came through the door.

Allison breathed a sigh of relief, as she looked over to see Erik’s shoulders heaving from silent laughter, however their antics were cut short as the door suddenly swung open.

“Well, well, what have we here,” she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, “you two certainly look like you were… up to something.”

“Are you mad, Antoinette?” Erik jumped up and was across the room in two long strides, he shut the door swiftly before turning on his heel to face the woman in question. “Do you want the whole opera house to see?”

“Forgive me, monsieur,” Mme. Giry responded coolly, “it’s just the last time Christine did not answer the door, she had been kidnapped.”

The vein at Erik’s temple began to throb, and Allison’s heart fell, the moment was over. Had she imagined it? They still had yet to address New Year’s Eve, and she was beginning to think she had simply manifested his alleged feelings for her.

But why would she do that? Why was she disappointed now? Why did her face grow hot whenever he was near? Why did her heart skip a beat every time he spoke? What was the meaning of all of it?

_Perhaps it’s time to admit it, I’m falling for him._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time inevitably came for the curtain to rise and for the show to go on, by the time she was supposed to go on Allison’s nerves in regard to her solo had been replaced by nerves in regard to a certain opera ghost.

Thus she was flawless on stage, but just as confused as ever when she returned to the wings. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was watching, his angel was singing, of course he was watching. In truth, she hadn’t heard him mention Christine in a while. _Had he moved on?_ She shook that thought from her head, Erik wasn’t the type to simply move on.

_No, it’s simply just too painful for him to talk about._ But his behavior had made it all the more confusing, there was the kiss, and his reaction was… less than ideal. The silent treatment afterwards, but then sweet gestures. And the lake incident… It was all so overwhelming, so much so that she didn’t even notice the piercing green eyes lurking in the shadows backstage.

She felt a hand grip her arm and pull her to the wall, and a body press against her, pinning her. A firm hand covered her mouth to keep her from crying out. Her eyes widened as she looked up into Henri’s face bearing his signature grin.

“Shhh mademoiselle, there is a show going on,” he whispered, his hand slowly uncovering her mouth.

“Henri, what are you doing? Let me go,” she hissed.

“I am simply picking up where we left off,” he leaned in to kiss her once more, but she moved her head out of the way.

“I would rather cut my own tongue out.”

“Playing hard to get eh?” His arm snaked its way around her waist, pulling her closer to him, “luckily that sort of thing works for me.”

“I’m not playing, Henri, leave me alone,” she squirmed, but his grasp was too tight.

“Alone? You want to be alone?” He smirked, “that can be arranged my dear, shall I whisk us away to my private chateau?”

Allison struggled.

“You’ll like it there, it’s in Chamonix, nestled deep within the mountains, only the strongest of horses can reach it. Yes, we shall be quite alone there I think.”

He leaned in once more but this time Allison was able to get a leg loose and landed her knee firmly into his groin, causing him to fold over and fall to the ground.

As he writhed on the ground in pain she stooped down, “touch me again, monsieur, and I will personally see to it that your blood line ends with you.”

She dusted herself off and went to join Meg as they watched Christine triumph on the stage.


End file.
